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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690659">Der Unsterbliche Preis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis'>Novaviis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>These Violent Delights [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherhood, Brothers Germany &amp; Prussia (Hetalia), Christmas, Drama, Drama &amp; Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, F/M, Gen, Germany is Holy Roman Empire, Ghosts of Christmas, Gothic, Haunting, Heavy Angst, Historical Hetalia, Holidays, Immortality, M/M, Multi, Prussia is not Dead (Hetalia), Prussia-Centric (Hetalia), Suspense, Tragedy, Yet!, and lots of it!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:26:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novaviis/pseuds/Novaviis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“One must pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while still alive.” – Friedrich Nietzsche</i>
</p><p>It is Christmas, and Gilbert's time is up. After the events of the year before, everyone (or nearly everyone) is eager to put the past behind them. The problem comes when the past returns to haunt them, in every sense of the word. The clock is ticking, and Gilbert is desperate to find the answers he's been searching for all his life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Austria/Hungary (Hetalia), Austria/Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia), Austria/Prussia (Hetalia), France &amp; Prussia &amp; Spain (Hetalia), Germany &amp; Prussia (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>These Violent Delights [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Haunting is the only word I can use to describe this story. It has been haunting me since the day I started writing <i>Un Giorno Per Noi</i>, and in the same nature of a ghost, it's been slipping from my grasp every time I have tried to reach for it. </p><p>Same caveat as always folks; this story is based in history, but I take a lot of liberties, so don't take anything as accurate gospel. The interpretations of the characters are my own, and deviate from the canon. The pairings I've included are loosely alluded to or included in the background, so if you are looking for something surrounding a romance, this may not be it. And, if you haven't read the first fic in this series, I wouldn't necessarily say it is necessary as I do try to cover my bases, but it will certainly help you understand the background. Also, y'know... I wrote it and I like it so you should totally read it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Austria, 1640’s</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t an hour before they found Feliciano on the Cathedral floor. Gilbert held the door back as Erzsébet and Roderich stepped inside, the scent of roses assaulting their noses. He did not need to look inside to know what they would see - for the most part, in any case. He’d witnessed the funeral scene already, been there as the flowers were placed and candles were lit, sat in the first pew with a dead stare at the wooden casket. It had only been earlier that day that the impromptu procession arrived at Sankt Bacchus, trekking across the frozen hellscape of the European winter from the Rhine. Gilbert had already seen all of this, had been riding beside the carriage pulling the casket for days already. He’d had plenty of time to prepare himself for this. </p><p>It wasn’t nearly enough...</p><p>It had been a topic of some debate; where to place the boy’s body, what should be done with him. Only the Emperor and Kings of the empire, the highest nobility and advisors truly understood the delicacy of this situation. To anyone else, the boy was just a cocky young ward, assuming he was on the war front as a squire or a nobleman’s boy - no one really questioned it. And, now that he was dead, just another body to bury. The Emperor wanted him in Regensburg or Munich, while the Duke of Prussia wanted him laid in Berlin, and soon enough the whole Royal Fucking Court was bickering over the boy’s corpse like it was some sort of powerplay. </p><p>This had all been a series of headache inducing letters on the campaign. Lugging around the casket, they’d retreated from the Rhineland, waiting for word on where to go. Gilbert had been the one to put his foot down. It would be Sankt Bacchus. High up in the mountains, beyond fortified walls, there would be no danger of anyone stealing the body. It was a relatively neutral territory in Austria, still part of the Empire. A reasonable compromise. </p><p>It had been easier to deal with this as a political matter, easier to distance himself from his own failure. Gilbert had done his duty, brought the boy’s corpse back to its final resting place. That should have been it. Gilbert should have already been heading back to the War, meeting up with his Generals, securing their victory. </p><p>But he was here now. And this was personal. Gilbert did not do <em>personal </em>well. </p><p>He knew the true reason for his insistence on bringing Ludwig to Bacchus - it was the closest thing the boy had to a home in centuries, the one constant. It only seemed fitting… </p><p>Which, in all likelihood, was why he’d spent hours staring at the sanctuary, at the flickering light of the candles, shadows the Saints and Angels dance over the altar, the scent of <em>fucking roses</em> burning his nostrils. The howling wind outside resounded in a low, rumbling echo through the vaults of the Cathedral. The effect was that of a divine and damning choir. Clergy and footmen all moved around him, preparing for the mourning. They did not even seem to notice him, sitting in the pew, staring at the body, a relic on full display. And if anyone happened to look, and notice the red veins in his eyes, they certainly did not mention it.  </p><p>The sun was falling down toward the western horizon, and Gilbert knew he had to deliver the news. So, he rode across the mountainside to Roderich’s estate.  The moment he pulled his horse toward the stable, passing the beast off to a young servant without second glance, the atmosphere of the household changed. He felt it with every footstep through the frozen crust of the snow, a tension growing with his presence - faces peering through the curtains, voices hushed through the walls. </p><p>Gilbert knew well what he was to these humans - an Omen of War and death. So much more-so than they realized yet. </p><p>Approaching the door, he did not have to knock before it was flung open. Erzsébet stood on the other side, hair undone and piling over her bare shoulders. The line of her brow was deep, gaze betraying concern and distrust all at once. One hand braced on the door, the other bunched in the dark emerald silk of her dress. Gilbert knew all too well that she kept a well-sharpened dagger strapped to her calf. She would just as soon welcome him inside for a drink as she would slice his throat - all depending on the occasion, of course. </p><p>Given the nature of his visit, he wondered vaguely which it would be. </p><p>“Beilschmidt,” she said curtly, “what are you doing here?” </p><p>Gilbert stood rigid, slipping the hood of his black cloak back off his head. “Is Edelstein here?” </p><p>Erzsé’s eyes narrowed. “If you even <em>propose </em>to leave me out of any discuss-”</p><p>“Is he here?” Gilbert snapped. </p><p>For a moment, it did not appear that Erzsé was going to answer. Gaze still as sharp as her tongue, she looked him over, and something in her observation seemed to change her demeanour. The sound of approaching footsteps had her looking over her shoulder, deeper into the Manor past the foyer. “He is coming,” she answered before looking back at him. Concern had quickly taken over her eyes. “Gilbert…” she said, quietly now, “what is going on?” </p><p>Before he had the chance to answer, Roderich appeared in the doorway. He stood beside Erzsé, gently taking the door from her hand and pushing it wide enough for him to step into the threshold. Though he was not as outwardly confrontational as Erzsébet had been, seeing Gilbert without notice, there was no mistaking the wary glean in his eyes.  Roderich nodded to him. “Gilbert,” he said, foregoing formalities given the circumstance. </p><p>Gilbert nodded in return, a quick greeting. There was no small talk, no room in his mind for it. He looked at the two of them, and they stared back at him in mounting anticipation. He exhaled. “Holy Rome is dead.” </p><p>Roderich’s jaw tightened. His thin, dark brows furrowed. Beside him, Erzsé seemed to hold his breath, looking between the two men. “I don’t understand…” Roderich replied. </p><p>“He is <em>dead</em>, Roderich, what is there to understand?” Gilbert hissed. It took that second repeating for the shock to fade it seemed, and as it lifted the two fellow Nations were left winded. Erzsé’s hand flew to her mouth, a slight tremor in her fingertips as she brushed them across her lips in silent horror. Roderich, for his part, still could not seem to absorb this information. Gilbert sighed, the venom draining out of him as he passed his hand back through his hair. “It was Bonnefoy… when we found the boy in the Rhineland, he was already gone, but a handkerchief had been left behind… I’d seen it before. There’s no doubt it was him.”</p><p>“A handkerchief…” Erzsébet trailed off.</p><p>Gilbert nodded. “Pressed over the wound. It did not do much in the end, he’d been run through the heart, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I do not know what to think. All I know is that he is dead, but nothing has… <em>happened</em> to his body. I have never seen a Nation die myself, but from what I understand, they… <em>our</em> bodies return to the Earth in a more literal sense.” </p><p>Roderich exhaled roughly, bringing his fingers up to massage the bridge of his nose where his spectacles sat. “And his has not?” </p><p>“It’s been over a fortnight now,” Gilbert confirmed. “His body… it hasn’t even changed. No decay, no discolouration, no signs of fading, just…  nothing.” It was a struggle to put to words, and an even more difficult concept to grasp - their own mortality in immortal lives. So much as Nations preferred to think of themselves as constants throughout history… nothing was permanent. Nothing was set in stone. It just wasn’t the way of the Universe. </p><p>There was an exception to every rule. Holy Rome’s death seemed to manifest that. </p><p>For a long while, none of them said a word. At last, Roderich spoke, his tone low and unsteady. “Where is he now?”</p><p>“We’ve brought him to Sankt Bacchus,” Gilbert replied, ashamed for a moment that he was unable to keep the slight tremor from his voice. “In all honesty… no one is quite certain what to do. This hasn’t happened in centuries.”</p><p>Erzsé spoke up then, her voice thick, a hair’s breadth from breaking. “<em>How</em> did this happen, Gilbert?”</p><p>And this was the part he’d been dreading the most. Gilbert still had difficulty stringing the whole catastrophe together into one narrative. “He was told that Bonnefoy had been seen recently in the Rhineland,” Gilbert began, already feeling the guilt closing tight around his chest. “Somehow, he got it into his head that if he fought and subdued him, took him into captivity, that it would help to bring a faster end to the War. He tried to argue his point to the Generals, to the other Kingdoms, but no one would listen – and with good reason, we couldn’t mobilize an entire army on a rumour, and certainly not in time to capture France, but… the boy wouldn’t <em>listen</em>. He left on his own. By the time I caught up with him…” Gilbert trailed off, jaw tensing as he shook his head and refused to speak further for the sake of his pride. The crack in his voice said enough, that “too late” suspended in the air. </p><p>Gilbert did not tell them that he’d rode ahead of his men when he realized Ludwig had gone. He did not tell them that he travelled for nearly two days straight. Not that he’d tracked Ludwig to a field near the banks of the Rhine. Not that he’d first seen a black mound still in the dirt and had thought that it was a pile of burnt logs at a distance. Or that he jumped off his horse before it’s stopped once he realized that he was wrong. Gilbert did not tell them that he’d sprinted that last distance and skidded to his knees through the mud. </p><p>There was no point in telling them at Ludwig’s eyes had been open, ghostly pale and unseeing - that his blood was still warm. That Gilbert had roared, cursed Bonnefoy’s name. There was simply no point.</p><p> That memory would be Gilbert’s burden to bear, and his alone. He did not pretend it was out of great selflessness that he kept these harrowing details to himself, but - these two people, standing in front of him, were the few that had cared about Ludwig as much as he had come to. And to admit to anything else, to any further sentiment or friendship, would right not be just too much. </p><p>Erzsébet, hands held over her heart, released a harsh breath. A dark look overtook her features. “Who on Earth told him where Bonnefoy was?” she hissed.</p><p>There was a beat of silence. Gilbert closed his eyes as if in confession. “I did.”</p><p>With a furious snarl, Erzsébet stepped forward, her heel on the marble floor echoing through the foyer like a gunshot. Before she could say anything, however, Roderich’s hand was on her shoulder. She stopped, head whipping around to glare up at him as he shook his head. “What does this mean for the Empire?” Roderich asked, turning his attention back to the Prussian.</p><p>“Damn the Empire!” Erzsébet argued, wrenching her shoulder out of Roderich’s grasp. “How can you think of that at a time like this?!”</p><p>“I am thinking only of preserving the living,” Roderich replied sharply, though there was no mistaking the heavy sadness in his voice. “We cannot do anything for him now. Gilbert,” he prompted the man again.</p><p>Gilbert exhale roughly through his nose, before straightening his back and facing Roderich eye to eye. “No one knows,” he explained. “Nothing has changed, the Empire itself is still intact, but… with Ludwig dead, I cannot see how it –”</p><p>A thunderous crash interrupted the exigent conversation. Every head turned in the direction of the corridor off the foyer, where a marble bust had crashed to the floor and shattered into pieces with the deafening sound of a canon. Standing in the centre of the wreckage was a young man, just about Ludwig’s age, staring in a sort of horrified daze at the broken statue.</p><p>God. The Venetian boy. Feliciano. Gilbert had been so consumed in his own failure and grief, the dread of having to deliver this news to Roderich and Erzsébet, that he had neglected to think of the one being alive closer to Ludwig than all three of them. Ludwig had spent countless hours writing letters to the boy, asking after his well being whenever they received word from their dignitaries, simply enjoying his company when they returned to Austria. The two of them had been inseparable. </p><p>This would not bode well. </p><p>Roderich’s attention focused singularity on Feliciano, turning away from Gilbert and Erzsébet. As he let go of the door, Gilbert reached out to hold it long enough to step inside and allow it to shut beyond him. Erzsébet did not have the mind to deny him, too entranced by Roderich and Feliciano. </p><p>All stately manner vanished from Roderich in an instant. His shoulders smoothed, his eyes softened, and as he slowly approached the Italian boy, he took each step with a forced calm - like cornering a frightened animal. “Feliciano…” Roderich began. </p><p>Gilbert had, in all the centuries he’d known him, never seen the man speak with such tenderness and devastation in his voice. He found himself holding his breath, rooted to the spot as he waited to see how this would unfold. Erzsébet seemed to be doing the same. </p><p>Feliciano took another step back, tripping over the bust’s neck and stumbling to right himself. He shook his head as Roderich came closer, opening his mouth with no sound to show for it. His eyes were wide and fearful, already brimming with tears when the truth had not yet been broken. </p><p>Roderich held his hands out in front of him. “Feliciano listen to me,” he said, slow and even in a way that felt entirely too false. “It is going to be okay,” he continued as he advanced.</p><p>Feliciano just continued to shake his head, silently begging Roderich not to say it. The boy was shaking as his back hit the wall behind him, chest heaving with unsteady breaths. Tears were already staining his cheeks, dripping from his chin and onto his shirt. Gilbert watched it all from a distance, the bitter winter wind biting at his skin. </p><p>Roderich bent down on one knee in front of the boy, arms held at his sides. He kept a careful distance, each movement calculated with a mandatory calm. “I am sorry…. But –”</p><p>Feliciano did not wait to hear him. Turning on his heel, he sprinted down the corridor before Roderich could react fast enough to grab him. The Austrian fell forwards, catching himself on his hands and rising to his feet. “Feliciano!” he shouted down the hall, looking back only for a moment at Erzsébet and Gilbert before dashing off after his young ward. </p><p>“Feliciano, wait!” Erzsébet called out after him, gathering her skirts to go after them as well. </p><p>Gilbert cursed, about to unhook his cloak from around his shoulders so he might run faster without its weight. However, before he could step around Erzsé, the woman was whirling on him, a strong hand, pushed against his chest and knocking the wind out of him. She whipped her head around, eyes bloodshot and glistening with tears, brimming with fury as she curled her lip at him. “Don’t,” she growled. </p><p>The meaning was clear. She did not need to voice it. He had done enough. </p><p>In any case, neither of them needed to run after Feliciano. Roderich came running back into the grand foyer moments later, slightly out of breath as he gestured to the corridor behind him. “He’s gone,” he panted. “He went out the back before I could stop him. He’s taken your horse.” </p><p>“Where has he gone?” Erzsébet asked, an edge of well-earned hysteria in her voice. </p><p>“I do not know,” Roderich sighed. “It looked like he was heading toward the Northern trail. I doubt even he knows exactly where he is going.” </p><p>“Have your stable hands prepare two horses,” Gilbert said as he removed his cloak. The thick black fabric billowed around him as he walked toward Roderich. “You two can ride together, I’ll take the other. Once we find Feliciano, I can take my horse. One of you will bring Feliciano back.”</p><p>“He could be halfway across the mountain by now. He’s not in any state to be riding off,” Erzsé lamented.  “It will be dark soon; he’ll get himself hurt.” </p><p>Gilbert turned toward her, holding out his cloak. “Then we had better get going.” </p><p>Erzsébet’s jaw set, staring Gilbert down for a tense minute, before taking the cloak and pulling it over her shoulders. There was no time for arguing. Once the horses were prepared, the three Nations rode out onto the trail. Erzsébet sat behind Roderich, legs thrown over the side while she held onto his waist. Feliciano’s tracks disappeared once the horse ran off the snow-covered lane and onto the cobblestone, but at that point it was fairly clear that he’d headed up toward the village. They called out his name, searching for any sign of the boy, but opted to stay together in the case that they found him and needed help. </p><p>It was at one brief stop at an outcropping on the trail, overlooking a vast drop down the mountainside, that Roderich dismounted his steed to search. It was a favourite place of Feliciano and Ludwig’s, a scenic little spot they often came to for hours on end. Try as he might to be subtle, Gilbert saw the way Roderich glanced over the edge of the low stone wall. Nothing. </p><p>They continued on up the mountain, catching the trail of Gilbert’s horse again, and following it until they were certain that Feliciano had headed up toward Sankt Bacchus. The mountaintop village was a fortress in its own right, and the imposing walls cut through the evergreen forest the moment they turned around a bend in the path to meet it. It was as they rode beneath the great iron gate and into the village that they were met with the high spires of the Cathedral. The three Nations exchanged a knowing look. </p><p> Sure enough, Gilbert’s horse was pacing frantically at the base of the steep ridge toward the Cathedral. They dismounted, Gilbert taking the reigns of his horse as they tied the beasts off to a nearby post. When they’d breached the summit and made it to the Cathedral’s doors, Gilbert pushed them open and stepped aside, allowing Erzsébet and Roderich to witness the scene for themselves. </p><p>All this time, and still Gilbert was not prepared. </p><p>There was a moment of silent horror as they walked down the nave. The Cathedral was dark, the sun having finally sank down below the horizon, leaving only flickering candlelight to illuminate the cavernous space. The vibrant red hue of the roses was almost startling. Every opulent detail of the church, the gold and the marble and the vivid paint, was all swallowed whole by that gothic presence of death. The casket sat on the altar, Ludwig’s body laying cold inside. </p><p>And there was Feliciano, collapsed on the floor in front of the sanctuary. </p><p>Erzsébet was the first to see him, and the first to react. “Feliciano,” she whispered in one breath before running down the centre of the nave. She dropped down beside the boy, brushing the auburn hair off his face. Though she did not say a word, Gilbert took note of the way her fingertips lingered over the side of his neck, only coming away when he moaned at the disturbance. His cheeks were red and stained with dried tears. He’d cried himself to exhaustion. Erzsébet allowed herself to break at last, choking back a rough sob as she leaned down to press a firm kiss to his forehead.</p><p>Roderich was slower to approach. He paused beside Erzsébet, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder as he looked down at Feliciano. When she did not reject his touch, he gave her a light squeeze before continuing on toward the altar. Roderich was slow to climb the steps, and slower still to round the casket to gaze down at the still form of the boy inside. The silence was overwhelming as he reached out and laid his palm over Ludwig’s folded hands. He recoiled at the cold skin, nearly flinching back before finally letting his hand rest. Roderich bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut but his face otherwise serene. He breathed deeply, a slow rise and fall of his shoulders. After a moment of silence, he let go, and turned to walk down off the altar. </p><p>Stooping beside Erzsébet and Feliciano, he carefully lifted the boy into his arms, and rose to his feet with only a grunt. Feliciano may have been a 14-year-old boy in appearance, but he had always been slight in stature. Erzsébet helped to arrange him in Roderich’s hold, passing her hand back through his hair. Feliciano did not wake, barely even stirred at the movement. His chest occasionally hitched, the uneven aftermath of sobbing still present even in exhausted sleep.  </p><p>With Roderich taking care of Feliciano, Erzsé faced the altar. She seemed hesitant, as if she were avoiding it, but did after a minute slowly climb the steps up toward the casket. The black cloak trailed behind her, a long black train draping over the steps. Running her hand along the side of the wood, she came to a stop beside the boy’s head. She gripped the edge with both hands, knuckles turning white. The wood creaked under her fingers. Erzsébet’s hair had fallen out of place on the ride, damp with snow and wind blown. It fell over her face in strands, masking her eyes - but when she looked up, the light of the candles caught the red fury of her gaze as she stared up at the empty high throne  of the altar. </p><p>Gilbert could understand that silent sentiment all too well. He had, for his part, been respectfully standing back, allowing the two of them their chance to grieve. As Roderich carried Feliciano up the altar to stand by Erzsébet, Gilbert slowly joined the, standing on the other side of the casket. </p><p>“I am not certain I believed it until now,” Roderich confessed, his voice oddly hoarse and quiet, as if a breath louder would shatter every piece of glass in the Cathedral. </p><p>Erzsébet pursed her lips, still glaring up at the sanctuary. “He was barely more than a child…” </p><p>“Ludwig was my responsibility,” Gilbert said, at least finding his voice. “I failed him.” </p><p>The three Nations were silent, until Erzsébet finally tore her forsaken stare away from the Angels and Saints to look back at Gilbert. “Yes,” she conceded. “You did.” </p><p>Gilbert did not even entertain the thought of arguing that point. He met Erzsébet’s gaze head, and for once in his life, there was no defiance left in him, no pride. When he looked down at the boy again, there was more in his downcast eyes that suggested devastation over a blemish on his reputation. Erzsébet sighed, leaning over the edge of the casket to kiss Ludwig’s cold forehead. As she rose up again, she noticed for the first time the rosary clasped in his fingers. She frowned, eyes darting up to Feliciano. Gilbert followed the line of her gaze to the identical rosary, tangled around Feliciano’s hand. </p><p>“Roderich, look…” Erzsébet whispered. </p><p>Roderich did, and Gilbert followed, taking in the similarities between the two rosaries - they were made in a pair. </p><p>All three Nations exchanged the same knowing look. It did not need to be said aloud, but it was there, and the devastation that rang through it was deeper than any bell tone could reach and twice as powerful. Roderich sighed, shifting Feliciano in his arms. “We should get him home…” was all he said. Descending the altar, he turned his back on the funeral scene and made his way down the nave with his ward in his arms. </p><p>Erzsébet turned to follow, pausing on the last step and looking back. Gilbert had not moved from his place beside the casket, staring down at Ludwig with an unreadable expression. She sighed, pulling the black cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Gilbert,” she said, sighing when he did not acknowledge her, “come back. Stay with us.” Gilbert did look up at her then, a bare glance. Erzsébet extended her hand to him. “Having you freeze up here isn’t going to solve anything. Come,” she repeated. </p><p>Gilbert held out at first. Erzsébet, even in her anger and grief, could not shake the connection the centuries had built between them. Even Roderich, standing in the very centre of the nave, looked back at Gilbert and nodded with something approaching sympathy in his eyes. </p><p>Immortality was perhaps the loneliest existence imaginable. No matter what course history took, they had only each other. All Nations had only each other to share this life with. Perhaps that was what made this death such a deep wound. </p><p>Gilbert sighed roughly, looking back at the corpse. It still looked as if the boy could open his eyes at any moment. Reaching out, he braced his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder, closing his eyes, inhaling the scent of roses. As he exhaled, he let go, picking up the casket’s lid from where it had been set aside on an ornate stand. He lowered the top down, and Ludwig was hidden from sight. </p><p>It was a temporary thing, really. The funeral rights would take place within a matter of days, as the nobility of the Empire came to lay the boy to rest in the crypt. He would be placed in a fine stone tomb - a stone mason had already been commissioned. Letters had been sent, convoys of Kings were journeying to Sankt Bacchus, and before Ludwig would be laid down in his grave, there would be talk of politics and war and the ensured survival of the Empire. It all felt entirely too callus and false. Gilbert was so fucking <em>sick </em>of it all. </p><p>He latched the casket shut. Descending from the altar, he turned his back on the sanctuary and joined Erzsébet and Roderich for the cold journey across the mountain side. </p><p> </p><p>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sankt Bacchus, One year ago</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It happened as the bell tolled. </p><p>Gilbert had still been out of breath, weak with relief and gut-wrenching guilt, all too much to handle at once. The air up on the mountain was thin, and every exhale fogged from his mouth in thick clouds, his throat and lungs burning. He’d just thrown his car into park on the far side of the village, on the old road leading the long way down the mountain, stumbling out before he’d even ripped the keys from the ignition. Dead-set on sprinting toward the Cathedral, Gilbert tore around the corner of a ruined building and toward the ridge, where Sankt Bacchus loomed high and monstrous overhead. A light erupted from inside, steady and faint, shining out from the broken windows and crumbling walls. The source of it moved, swaying frantically from side to side but still steadily fixed on the exit. Gilbert nearly stumbled, heart clenching as the light breached the doors, and two figures came stumbling out into the snow. </p><p>The sound of Erzsé, Roderich, and Francis racing after him, footsteps over ice and cobblestone, momentarily faded. Feliciano and Ludwig were standing at the ancient doors. Energy renewed, Gilbert ran up the ridge toward them. </p><p>“Ludwig!” he shouted, his voice echoing up to the Cathedral as he approached. “Feli!” </p><p>The two of them turned at once. Gilbert skidded in the snow, bracing his hands on his brother’s shoulders to keep from slamming into him. His eyes flitted wildly over him, searching for signs of injury, absorbing the fact alone that he was there and alive. Ludwig was covered in dust and dirt, his knuckles were broken and bloody - but he was there. He was alive. Gilbert’s gaze snapped to Feliciano, reaching out to grab his shoulder too as he looked him over. “Francis told us-,” he gasped, lungs still burning, “fuck, where’s Konrad? What happened?” </p><p>Ludwig braced his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder in return. “Konrad was taken care of,” he answered. “Feliciano... he saved me.”</p><p>Gilbert’s gaze snapped to Feliciano. The Italian shrunk under his gaze, flinched back the moment his eyes fell on him. Still, Feliciano looked back, eyes wide and pleading, exhausted, a faint trail of blood slipping down the back of his neck and staining the collar of his coat. Feliciano, who just hours ago Gilbert had wanted to scream and rage at until his voice was hoarse. Who Gilbert had taken his anger and fear out on so cruelly. Feliciano looked afraid of him. Gilbert couldn’t help but think back to the day before <em>(fuck, it’d only been a day…), </em>the moment they found the two of them in the Cathedral. </p><p>He hadn’t even wanted to check the Cathedral. Roderich had insisted, a <em>better safe than sorry </em>scenario as he hiked up the ridge above the town. Gilbert had resisted only out of a bone deep dread, but followed anyway. The very moment they had pushed the creaking doors open and found Ludwig inside, standing unknowingly on top of his own grave, with Feliciano draped so casually in his arms… it was an avalanche, cold but no less destructive in its power, centuries of protective energy crashing down around his ears. He’d put on that smile, sure, ushered his brother out with ease, but there was a <em>roar </em>in him and it was rushing down the mountain face. </p><p>Gilbert had blamed Feliciano. He’d chased him out. And when Gilbert had failed at protecting Ludwig, Feliciano came back. He saved him. </p><p>His hands fell back to his side. Adrenaline still flashing hot through his veins, he stood there panting for breath, clouds floating from his lips in the cold. “You…” he breathed. Feliciano only nodded timidly - waiting for him, he realised. Waiting for him to scream and rage and send him away again. In one rush, Gilbert pulled Feliciano into his arms, probably too tight but he couldn’t find it in himself to lessen the strength of that embrace. “Thank you,” he choked out. </p><p>It was a moment before Feliciano relaxed, crumbling into the hug as he brought his arms up around Gilbert in return. He could feel it between them. Four hundred years of grief, two hundred years of pressure rolling off their shoulders in a breath. Feliciano was teary eyed, but ever-smiling when he pulled away. Gilbert managed a smile back, as Erzsébet practically shoved him out of the way to get to Feli.</p><p>With the others now catching up, it was a collective moment of respite. Roderich and Erzsé both ran to them, sharing in their relief that they’d found Ludwig and Feliciano safe. Erzsé fussed over them both, while Roderich straightened the collar of Feliciano’s coat with a comment on getting the bloodstains out, his hand rubbing over his shoulder with a brief smile. For the moment, all was well. The promise of a warm hearth fire and a sanctuary from the shadow of this gothic monolith waited for them back at the house. </p><p>Ludwig, all the while, never took his eyes off of Feliciano. He was silent, aside from a few murmured platitudes, his focus solely on the Italian. It didn’t go unnoticed by Gilbert, and even he felt his frozen old heart thaw at the sight of his brother absorbing a thousand years with nothing standing between the two of them any longer. He deserved it. They deserved it. And although he could not regret doing everything in his power to keep his brother safe, Gilbert was more than ready to let it all go. To finally take a step back.</p><p>He felt the chapter close. </p><p>Gilbert watched, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Ludwig turned to Feliciano at last, hands reaching up to cup the Italian’s face so earnestly. He murmured something to him, drawing tears from Feliciano’s eyes as he smiled. It was only then that Gilbert noticed, apart from the touching moment, that Francis was standing back. Isolated by just a few steps, it felt as if the Frenchman were standing a word apart. Keeping a fair distance, seemingly unable to cross some invisible threshold, Francis watched Ludwig with a blank face. It was his eyes, though, that gave him away, centuries of pain and guilt and regret all battling one dominant emotion - relief. </p><p>His best friend. Who killed his brother.  Gilbert watched him shuffle his feet, stare at the tracks he left in the snow, take a deep breath, look up to the spire of the cathedral. Francis killed Ludwig another life time ago, murdered him as a young boy - and now Ludwig knew. Gilbert wasn’t quite sure what to feel in that moment. He’d snapped at Francis just earlier that same night, that old scar bleeding beneath the surface of his skin as he glared at him in the village. Centuries ago, Gilbert had sworn he would never forgive Francis for what he had done… but at some point, and he wasn’t sure when, he did. Those centuries had brought arguments, violent words thrown like razors from their mouths, night spent drunk and laughing together over the futility of it all, and heartfelt conversations of past mistakes. They’d been allies, they’d been at war, they’d been friends… but Francis killed his brother once. And Gilbert wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile all of it tonight. </p><p>Francis caught his eye. The heat that rushed through his chest was a burning torch in the cold midnight as his gaze met his friend’s. All Francis could do was sigh, nod, eyes flickering back to Ludwig, and then… something beyond him. Francis frowned, eyes narrowing for a moment on a distant point, before blowing wide. A frantic warning formed on his lips.</p><p>Feliciano had already shouted, shoving himself forward, the first to see it and the first to react. Gilbert spun around, barely catching the figure of Konrad lifting his pistol toward Ludwig. A deafening explosion shot through the air, cutting clean through the crystal night. There was the flash of the pan, the burst of fire, and the scent of gunpowder stark against the crisp snowfall, smoke rising from the barrel; all too much to grasp, to keep up with, to make sense of. </p><p>It was the toll of the bell, ringing through the valley below, that broke the spell of shock. Gilbert prided himself on being quick on his feet - he could not afford to slip now. Ludwig and Roderich were the closest to Feliciano. They had him covered, Ludwig already grabbing onto the smaller man and lowering him to the ground, eyes wide with terror but forcing himself to remain steady for Feli’s sake. Gilbert would have been proud, had he the time. Roderich was already ripping off his scarf to press over the wound. </p><p>That left him, Francis, and Erzsébet to deal with Konrad. All in less than the span of a second, Gilbert tore off across the ridge and toward the Cathedral doors. Erzsé raced past with an enraged shriek, faster on her feet and showing no hesitation. Konrad’s hands were already shaking, trying to reload the gun as he fished a clumsily rolled gunpowder cartridge from his pocket. Black powder was spinning out onto the snow from his coat. Erzsé grabbed at the pistol before he could load the cartridge. She did not pause, did not allow Konrad to use his strength against her. Wrenching his arm to the side before he could react, Erzsé threw the man off balance and reared back with a solid punch to his jaw. </p><p>The moment he stumbled back, Gilbert and Francis descended on him, working in tandem to bind his arms just long enough for Erzsébet to rip the pistol from his hands. It did not last long, though. Konrad was wild with fury, his strength manic as he pulled his arm free from Francis’ hold and punched him across his cheek. Gilbert struggled to maintain control pulling down on Konrad’s other arm and hooking his elbow over the man’s neck, but Konrad managed to land an unmerciful punch to Gilbert’s gut, knocking the breath out of him just enough to let go. </p><p>Konrad reached his powder blackened fingers into his back pocket. Gilbert saw only a flash of steel before Konrad swung at him, just barely ducking down and staggering out of the way before the blade met his jugular. Konrad roared, his voice making competition with the repetitive tones of the bell tower of Sankt Sergius a thousand feet below them. </p><p>“Konrad, stop this!” Erzsébet shouted as she leapt for his arm, grappling for the knife only to be thrown off. Francis caught her before she could fall, pulling the both of them out of the way as Konrad made another swing at them. Gilbert planted a kick to the man’s back, knocking him forward. Konrad caught himself before he could fall, wildly swinging his arm around in a wide arc before the other nations could pin him down. </p><p>With the three of them forced back, unable to get close enough to Konrad while he was brandishing the blade, Francis caught his breath, casting a worried glance over his shoulder as he heard Feliciano shout in agony. “Do you not see what you’ve done?!” he yelled, voice trembling with rage and fear. </p><p>“What <strong><em>I </em></strong>have done?” Konrad bellowed, narrowing his focus on Francis, the knife’s lethal tip pointing directly at him. “I am only doing what <em>you </em>failed to all those years ago!” </p><p>Francis went pale. It was enough, a moment’s delay. Konrad lunged at Francis, the knife cutting into the first layer of his coat before Gilbert tackled him out of the way. Francis staggered back, pressing his hand to his chest just to feel for blood. He recovered just as Konrad turned his fury back to Gilbert, kneeing the man in the ribs. Coming back to just senses, Francis leapt onto Konrad’s back. Konrad nearly fell backwards with the weight. </p><p>Erzsébet pulled Gilbert to his feet with Konrad distracted, the Prussian coughing and holding onto his ribs. Behind them, Feliciano cried out again. Her head whipped around; a choking noise strangled in the back of her throat at the sight of the Italian bleeding out into the snow. “God, Feli, he’s-”</p><p>“Go,” Gilbert coughed as he forced himself upright. Erzsébet looked back to him, mouth open to argue, but he met her glare dead on. “Go, help them get him out of here!” </p><p>Erzsébet knew just as well as he did that fighting him on this would do no good. He made a call when one needed to be made. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath. Reaching down into the side of her boot, she pulled out a length of polished wood the size of her palm, and flicked it out - the silver edge of the pocketknife caught the moonlight. She pressed the hilt into Gilbert’s hand, her fingers squeezing tightly around his with a solid look. Gilbert nodded. Erzsébet let go and took off back toward Feliciano, Ludwig, and Roderich. </p><p>In that moment, Konrad finally managed to shake Francis off. Francis’ back hit the stone with a bone cracking thud. Finally freed, Konrad scrambled toward the pistol, lying forgotten in the snow. Torn in that moment between helping his friend and stopping Konrad, Gilbert cursed and ran at the former nation, grabbing a fistful of his coat and decking him across the face, knife still grasped in the same hand. “Francis!” Gilbert shouted as he let go of Konrad just long enough to kick him in the thigh. “The pistol!” </p><p>Konrad roared, tripping in the snow in his haste to get to the pistol first, but Gilbert grabbed him by the back of his coat and pulled him back. Now, as Konrad staggered back to his feet, Gilbert had his full and undivided attention. A cloud passed overhead, patches blocking out the moon as snow continued to drift down, peaceful and unaware. Konrad looked like something freshly crawled from hell, skin smeared with dust and gunpowder, blood trailing down over his face in thin rivers from his head. His eyes were bloodshot, teeth set on edge, a thousand years of wrath narrowed down to a knife’s point. </p><p>From the peripheries of his vision, Gilbert saw as Francis swept the pistol up from off the ground and frantically unloaded it. He dumped the powder in the pan, before shaking the barrel upside down until the paper wadding, bullet, and the remainder of the gunpowder all came tumbling out onto the snow dusted cobblestone. </p><p>Now, Konrad was no feeble old man. That much was painfully certain as the Old Kingdom lunged for him. Gilbert braced himself to meet his fury head on, attempting to grapple him rather than dodging out of the way. This couldn’t go on much longer. Though age had taken the man past his prime, he was still strong, more than enough to put up a struggle as Gilbert tried desperately to get the knife away from him, while still keeping a hold on his own.</p><p>The two of them stood locked. Konrad tried to swing at him with the knife, a violent downward arch that Gilbert only stopped inches from his left shoulder by switching his own blade to his right hand and catching Konrad’s arm. He was at a disadvantage there, using his nondominant hand to hold onto his knife, but succeeded in using his stronger arm to stop the path of the blade. Flipping the handle of the pocketknife between his fingers to hold it outward, Gilbert made a stab at Konrad’s side, but the Kingdom was able to anticipate the move, dropping his elbow onto Gilbert’s forearm. Konrad used Gilbert’s hold on his arm to his advantage before Gilbert could think to counter, yanking it to the side and punching Gilbert across the jaw. </p><p>“<em>You</em> did this to me!” Konrad’s earth-shaking roar echoed off the Cathedral looming above them. Gilbert was thrown to the ground with the momentum, rolling twice before managing to stop himself. Konrad, towering over him from several feet away, loomed with a damning shadow. “To all of us! You doomed us all!” </p><p>Gilbert scrambled up to his feet, unwilling to stay on the ground long enough for Konrad to take any further advantage. Breathing hard, rose up from his knees, blade still held tight in his hands. “The time of the Old Kingdoms was over, Konrad,” he panted as he stood. “We were all doomed already!”</p><p>This is what he never understood. What none of them had ever understood. The greater picture, beyond what any of them would live to see. Their time had come and gone. Gilbert had been the only one to accept it. The irony there, written into the youth of his mortal body, was enough to leave a copper taste on his tongue. Gilbert seethed, staring back at Konrad eye to eye, as he gestured toward his brother. “I only insured that <em>he </em>would live on!”</p><p>But Konrad wasn’t listening. He wasn’t <em>hearing</em> him. Gilbert knew then that he never would. He could not speak through the veil of his rage. “I will not be led to slaughter!” Konrad shouted, his aged voice breaking into claps of resonant thunder. “Do you hear me? <em>I</em> am the last of the Old Kingdoms!” </p><p>That final testimonial resounded off the mountain peaks, but Gilbert did not flinch at its power. It was a desperate last stand, and he could see it. Konrad’s eyes were wild, empty, his hand trembling with the force of his grip around the hilt of his blade. Gilbert could see it so clearly now. </p><p>He’d known Konrad. That was the hardest part in all of this. He’d been his ally and his enemy, his reluctant blood. Gilbert had seen him in the golden years of his Kingdom, a proud man who knew above all else when there was honour in fighting to the last breath and in accepting defeat in a pointless battle. He’d admired that about him, once, another lifetime ago. It was clearer now more than ever that <em>that</em> Konrad had died decades ago. Perhaps the confederation that had saved Ludwig hadn’t killed the Old Kingdoms immediately - put it had put to rest the very core of them. Konrad had not been Wurttemberg in nearly two hundred years now. That part of him was gone. What was left was a bitter old man, clinging to an elder glory he felt robbed of. </p><p>He was, though, very wrong about one thing. Slowly shaking his head, Gilbert took one dangerous step forward. His eyes met Konrad’s. He didn’t know what he looked like in that moment, what circle of hell he appeared native to, but he saw the flash of fear in Konrad’s eyes. It was a recognition. Gilbert felt something ancient roaring in the pit of him. “No, Konrad,” he seethed. “This has gone on long enough.” He should have put an end to all of this decades ago. Gilbert lifted his head high. “You are<em> not</em> the last of the Old Kingdoms… <em>I am</em>.”</p><p>Gilbert would never be sure which of them had moved first. All he knew was that in the span of a single heartbeat, Konrad was rushed toward him, and he was meeting him head on. It was fast. As Konrad threw his arm out in a desperate swing of his blade, Gilbert shifted out of the way, grabbed onto his arm, slammed his elbow over the side of it, the steel falling to the cobblestone ground with a sharp clatter only overshadowed by Konrad’s guttural shout. He didn’t let up. As Konrad grabbed at his shoulder, Gilbert did not leave him a chance to retaliate. </p><p>The knife barely resisted as it drove through flesh and muscle into Konrad’s chest.</p><p>There, they both stood still. Gripping onto each other, Gilbert’s knuckles still white around the blade, Konrad’s eyes blank. The snow continued to fall, even in the space between them. Gilbert could feel the slick, wet heat of blood leaking out onto his hand, even before Konrad gave a lurch deep in his chest, blood trickling out between his lips. For that moment, Gilbert thought it was over. </p><p>And then Konrad grinned. There was nothing behind it, not even the self-righteous fury that had consumed him faster that a flame minutes before. Konrad was <em>empty</em>, and he was grinning back at Gilbert with bloodstained teeth before spitting in his face. Gilbert flinched as the blood struck his cheek, confusion and dread trickling down the back of his neck like ice water. Konrad’s grip on his left shoulder tightened, and tightened, until Gilbert could not suppress a groan. He did not let go of the knife, the blood dripping out onto the snow. Konrad dug his thumb in <em>hard</em> against Gilbert’s shoulder, a slow, searing burn overtaking his senses. </p><p>As Gilbert watched, thin lines of gray began to spread over Konrad’s skin, cracking out in every direction from the knife in his chest. Like spiderwebs, the cracks branched out, met up, broke apart and shot out again, crawling up Konrad’s neck to his face, down his hands, every bit of skin visible covered in them. And still, Konrad was grinning at him, nothing left of him but dust, until finally, he crumbled away. Gilbert found himself paralyzed, staring into Konrad’s eyes until the very last moment, when his very being shriveled up and fell to the ground, a pile of dirt and clothes stained with blood. </p><p>Gilbert dropped the knife down into the forlorn pile. He gritted his teeth, bloodied hand coming up to grip his shoulder where Konrad’s touch had burned him. </p><p>“Gilbert!” Francis’ voice sounded so much further than it was, startling Gilbert when the blond man was suddenly standing beside him, bracing him steady when it looked like he might collapse. “Gilbert, you’re alright?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Gilbert groaned, squeezing his eyes shut a moment. When he opened them again, the sight of Konrad’s remains nearly made his stomach twist. “Yeah, I’m… where’s Feli? How is-” Francis shook his head, staring over Gilbert’s shoulder toward the dismal scene beneath the shadow of the Cathedral. Gilbert turned, and as he saw his brother holding onto the bleeding Italian, his distant and desperate commands for him to stay alive came into sharp clarity. “Fuck, no…” he breathed.</p><p>Leaving the disgraced Kingdom’s ashes behind, Gilbert took off running back toward the others, Francis following close beside him. They both came to a slow, almost frightened stop as they got closer, and the reality of what they were seeing hitting them with a cold, cutting wind up the mountain. </p><p>The last echoes of the bells of Sankt Sergius were at least dying out, the last haunting notes of its melody falling silent in the valley. The blood wasn’t stopping. Roderich’s hands were covered in it, two scarves soaked through. Gilbert watched, too stunned to look away. In truth, he was waiting. Waiting for Feliciano’s skin to crack and crumble away into dust. He felt his heart shudder and skip, running too hold and too cold at the same time as he anticipated the worst.</p><p>Feliciano’s eyes were barely open, but even so, they were focused solely on Ludwig. As they all watched, breaths held as if they could keep theirs for him, Feliciano reached a trembling hand into his pocket. It felt like an eternity before he brought out the rosary in his pocket, the rubies catching the faint glints of moonlight as it hid behind the clouds. </p><p>Ludwig, holding Feliciano close still, shoved his hand into his pocket and quickly took out his rosary, the soft emeralds dulled with time. He laid his hand over Feliciano’s, the rosaries meeting again, with their owners, for the first time in four hundred years. Feliciano smiled, faint and fading fast. His eyes began to drift closed. </p><p>“Don’t-” Ludwig choked off, terror clamouring through his voice as he pleaded. “Feliciano, don’t do this, don’t - <em>please!” </em>Feliciano’s head lulled against Ludwig’s shoulder, even as Ludwig tried to coax him awake again. “Feli! Feliciano!” </p><p>“Feli- Oh god,” Erzsébet passed her hand over his forehead. “We need to go, we need-” </p><p>Gilbert would have stumbled and tripped over his own feet in his haste had Francis’ steading hand on his right shoulder not been there to catch him. He frantically patted his pockets, already headed toward the car before the keys were in his hand. “Get him in the car!” he shouted, quickly taking over command. “Roderich, Ludwig, you stay in the back with him, keep him stable.” </p><p>It took that shouted order to bring Ludwig out of his paralytic shock. He nodded, sweeping Feliciano’s limp form into his arms with ease and dashing off after Gilbert toward the car. Erzsé once again raced ahead, making it to the car only a moment after Gilbert, and yanking the back door open. Roderich opened the opposite door, and as Erzsé leaned inside to brace Feliciano, Ludwig carefully lowered him across the back seat. That done, she waved Ludwig over to her side so that her could take her place. “You three take him,” she urged. “Francis and I will walk back, just go.” </p><p>There was hardly room for argument, no sense in them all wasting time trying to cram into the car. Gilbert slid into the driver’s seat, the car roaring to life just as Roderich climbed into the back and sat on the floor in front of Feliciano. The door had barely shut before Gilbert was turning the car around and back onto the long mountain road. Roderich took up his role again, pressing onto Feliciano’s wound, while Ludwig held him securely against his chest. </p><p>Feliciano wasn’t entirely unconscious, aware of the pain enough to moan in hitched sobs as Roderich pressed his hands hard over the bleeding wound. The sound of him filled the car. Gilbert could only see them through brief glances in the rear-view mirror. Ludwig pressed his lips to Feliciano’s hair, murmuring desperate comforts. “You’re alright, you’re alright, just hold on.” </p><p>The car was dark. The moon soared between the tall pines, flashing light into the shaded interior of the car. Feliciano’s skin was too pale, the blood too vibrant as it seeped from his chest. The pallor of Ludwig’s skin nearly matched it, colourless with fear as he held on for all his dear life clutched against his chest. </p><p>Feliciano cried out as Gilbert guided the car around a tight turn and the momentum shifted. He tensed and lurched, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Ludwig tried to hush him, eyes flashing up to meet Gilbert’s in the thin mirror. “Can you <em>please </em>be more careful?” Ludwig barked. “He’s in pain!” </p><p>Gilbert’s eyes flickered to the road and back again. “I know Ludwig, but it’s better that we get him back quickly rather than comfortably. Just keep him-” </p><p>“Stable, I know,” Ludwig snapped back, voice nearly breaking on the last word as Feliciano whined and turned his head in against Ludwig’s chest. “But if he goes into shock - God, he won’t-”</p><p>“Ludwig, he is going to be alright. We are going to make it back,” Gilbert cut in, his voice deep, calm, and commanding, “do you understand?” </p><p>Ludwig didn’t respond. He took in a trembling breath and rehearsed it as he pressed a desperate kiss to Feliciano’s forehead. Gilbert focused on the road again, as reflective signs warning of a sharp turn ahead sped by. “Brace him,” he warned just moments before breaking and guiding the car around the bend. With enough earning, Ludwig and Roderich were able to steady Feliciano to minimize the pain, but it wasn’t enough to keep that agonized cry from his throat. </p><p>The snow had picked up by the time they reached the Estate. The car nearly skidded in the snow as Gilbert pulled up to the side of the house. He’d put it in park before it stopped moving, ripping the keys out and running ahead to the door. Ludwig moved out of the back while Roderich kept a hold on Feliciano, just long enough for Ludwig to be able to stand and reach inside to pick the Italian up. Once he’d been moved safely, the two of them followed, where Gilbert had already unlocked the door to the old kitchen. </p><p>“Bring him up to one of the bedrooms, doesn’t matter,” Roderich said as they ran inside. “Lay him down and keep up pressure.” Ludwig did not stall to affirm that he’d heard, already bounding into the house with Feliciano secure in his arms. Roderich dashed into a small room off the kitchen, what used to be a storage room for preserves. </p><p>“Roderich,” Gilbert called from the other side of the room, torn between following after Ludwig and staying back to help. Medicine and First Aid had always been Roderich’s territory. It was a natural switch to defer to him now, a chain of command ingrained in him for centuries. “What do you need from me?” </p><p>“Water, two basins of it, and as many towels as you can find,” the Austrian replied as he pulled a large trunk out from the corner. He threw the lid open, digging through the supplies inside to gather what he needed - it looked like he’d robbed an Emergency Clinic. Gilbert didn’t even question why he had it all on hand - typical wounds may not kill him, but sepsis was a bitch and best to be avoided. In any case, he was just relieved Roderich was prepared. “Wash them out first, make sure the water’s hot to sterilize them.”</p><p>“Got it,” Gilbert nodded. He grabbed two large ceramic basins from the nearest shelf, and brought them to the sink, throwing on the tap before rushing down the hall and toward the nearest linen closet. Roderich did a fail job at keeping everything clean, but in a house this big even he couldn’t keep the dust from building up. He coughed as he threw the closet door open, but wasted no time in grabbing a handful of towels and shaking them out. Throwing them over his shoulder, he raced back into the kitchen, narrowing dodging out of Roderich’s way as he ran past and up the stairs. </p><p>And then suddenly it was just Gilbert and the running faucet. The water was cold, so he used it to rinse both the basins out before setting them down to fill up again as the temperature rose. All that was let now was the rush of the tap, his own thunderous heartbeat, and the muffled sounds of Feliciano crying out upstairs. Gilbert braced his hands on either side of the sink, for the first time taking the opportunity to breathe. </p><p>His shoulder was still burning. He could still feel Konrad’s grip digging into muscle and bone, all that molten hatred seeping into his body. That look in his eyes would be ingrained in his memory forever, that empty rage, a conceding defeat - no. It was a bitter victory, but one he took pleasure out of till the last of it. Gilbert rolled his shoulder back with a wince. </p><p>A heaven piercing scream shattered the delicate quiet. Gilbert jumped, turning his head up toward the floor above him, where Feliciano was shrieking at the top of his lungs, breaking off into choked sobs that shook through the house. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath. The basin was as full as he could get it and still carry it. With the second basin slipped underneath it, Gilbert carried it as quickly as he could up the stairs, unheeding of the scalding water that dripped over his fingers. </p><p>It wasn’t difficult to find them. Ludwig had taken Feliciano to the room he had been staying in, laid him out over the once crisp white sheets, now soaked through and stained with crimson. Roderich was looming over Feliciano, trying to fish the bullet out with a pair of long tweezers, while Ludwig held Feliciano’s shoulders down. Still, Feliciano thrashed and cried, his voice pitching high into screams every time the tweezers came in contact with the raw flesh. His sweater had been cut away, the blood muddied fabric lying open at either side of the chest. </p><p>Gilbert hurried in, setting the first basin down on the night table before filling it with the second. Without need of direction he positioned himself on the other side of the bed to hold Feliciano’s hips down against the mattress and keep him from moving any more. </p><p>Hardly conscious, Feliciano was hysterical, sobbing as he struggled against their hold. All the while, though Ludwig’s hold was strong and unwavering, his voice was gentle, murmuring over and over in his ear. “You’re doing so well, Feli, it’s almost over, just calm down.” </p><p>“I’ve got it,” Roderich reported, tweezers gone still in the cavity of Feliciano’s chest. “Gilbert, the second I pull the bullet out, he’s going to start bleeding more. Be ready to cover the wound while I thread a needle.”</p><p>Gilbert nodded, taking a bundle of towels and wadding them in his hands. With him at the ready, Roderich sent a steadying look to Ludwig, before pulling hard. The bullet came free with a sickening squelch of flesh, barely audible over the wracked sob Feliciano released. Gilbert couldn’t afford to give him a moment’s break before shoving the cloth over the wound, shifting to take Roderich’s position as he moved away. Holding both hands over the cloth, he looked to the Italian. </p><p>“You still with us, Feli?” he tried, praying he would get some kind of response. “Feli?” </p><p>“Feliciano,” Ludwig exhaled roughly, his chest trembling with it. “Not much longer. Hold on.” </p><p>It could have been a trick of the eye, but Gilbert could have sworn he saw Feliciano nod, a bare movement and a moan as his head fell to the side of the pillow, closest to Ludwig. He didn’t have the time nor care to look closer - Roderich was coming back to the bed with a needle and surgical thread. </p><p>And then it was the stitches, the astringent scent of disinfectant battling for dominance over the copper tang of blood in the air. It was Feliciano’s weakened sobs, his body lurching beneath their hands, the long and painful task of sewing the hole on his chest shut. By the end of it, Ludwig’s eyes were close, his forehead pressed so gently against Feliciano’s, whispering to him words even Gilbert couldn’t hear. When Roderich finally pulled away, tying off the last stitch and snipping the thread, it was with a sigh so heavy it seemed to rush through the room. Feliciano was still breathing. His heart was still beating. It was faint, but the life was still flickering in him. </p><p>Gilbert hadn’t heard the door on the first floor open, nor the footsteps up the stairs, but suddenly Erzsébet was in the doorway, snowflakes still clinging to her hair and the wool of her winter coat. She seemed to be holding her breath until she got a nod from Roderich. Walking into the room, she rounded the bed, and smoothed her hand tenderly over Ludwig’s shoulders. </p><p>“Ludwig?” she murmured. “You should wash off.”</p><p>“I-... no,” Ludwig replied without lifting his head. “I can’t…” </p><p>“Ludwig, darling, you’re covered in blood,” Erzsébet pressed, her voice firm but not unkind. “It’ll only upset him when he wakes up to see that, won’t it?” Finally, Ludwig sat upright, though he did not move away from Feliciano’s side. He stared down at his hands, covered up to the sleeves in blood, caked under his clothes and onto his skin. Erzsébet offered him a wavering smile. “We’ll clean him up, alright? Get him some fresh sheets, as well. But he won’t be comfortable until you are too. Isn’t that right?” </p><p>It was a long moment before Ludwig finally nodded. With one last squeeze to Feliciano’s hand, he reluctantly peeled himself away from the bedside. “You’ll…” he cleared his throat, “you’ll come get me if…”</p><p>“The second anything changes,” Erzsébet reassured him. “But Ludwig, look. He’ll be alright. He just needs to rest now.” </p><p>Ludwig seemed to be fighting with himself in that moment. He stared down at Feliciano, watching each shallow rise and fall of his chest, the knot in his brows, the twisted discomfort of his usually serene face. It wasn’t until Erzsé placed her hand on his arm that he finally looked down at the blood on his hands again, and walked out of the bedroom. </p><p>Erzsébet watched him until his back had retreated past the door, looking to Gilbert and mouthing <em>“In Shock” </em>silently to him. </p><p>Gilbert nodded, glancing over his shoulder toward the open door, and back down at Feliciano. He could not fathom what was going through Ludwig’s mind right now. It pained him just to think about it - centuries of unknown memories flooding in, nearly watching his lover die in his arms, the confrontation at the Cathedral. Gilbert sighed, reaching his hand up to rub at his forehead. He realised too late that his own hands were still coated in blood. He flinched and pulled his hand away. </p><p>Roderich, going through the motions of cleaning and bandaging Feliciano, paused. Turning toward the basins, he wrung out the cloth he was currently using, not exactly fresh but not as hopelessly soiled as the others, and then dipped it into the clean water. He batted Gilbert’s hand away when he tried to protest and tilted the Prussian’s head up by the chin so he could clean it in better light. Gilbert said nothing. </p><p>None of them did. None of them could. It wasn’t until Gilbert heard the spray of the shower turning on down the hall that he was finally able to find his absent voice. “I’m gonna keep an eye on him,” he murmured. “Shouldn’t be alone right now… you guys…”</p><p>“We can take care of Feliciano from here,” Roderich reassured him with a grim nod as he passed him the cloth. “Stay with him, Gilbert.” </p><p>Exhaling slowly, Gilbert nodded. He wiped his hands off as best as he could with the damp cloth, dried blood still sticking under his nails, between his fingers. Tossing the dirtied down into the pile with the rest of them, he then lowered his hand toward the bed, hesitating a moment before laying it on top of Feliciano’s on the sheet and giving it a squeeze. It was all he could bare to do before walking out into the hallway. </p><p>The house was so empty. The halls were dark and long, and the emptiness seemed to stretch on farther than he could fathom. Strips of moonlight cut clear through the windows, stagnant bars of dim light on either end of the corridors just barely illuminating the stairs, the rugs, the paintings - everything was in greyscale. Save for two points of golden light - Feliciano’s bedroom, and the thin sliver between the door of the bathroom down the hall. Gilbert found himself standing there at a loss for a moment, before approaching the bathroom door. He raised his fist, nearly rapped a knuckle on the door to - he wasn’t sure. Ask if Ludwig needed anything? If he was alright? They were moot questions. With a rough sigh, he turned and leaned back against the wall beside the door, slipping down into he was sat on the floor, on leg kicked out in front of him, head leaning back against the wall. </p><p>Gilbert breathed. Reminded himself to. Felt guilty that it came so easily, this stark calm that eased its way through his bones. He compartmentalized, took inventory; Feliciano had been shot, with no guarantee he would survive (no one wanted to say it). Ludwig knew the truth and there was no telling what effect it would have on him. Konrad was dead. Gilbert had killed him. Well… Merry Christmas. </p><p>Gilbert opened his eyes, trailing the pattern of the crown moulding on the ceiling. His mind was already tumbling down a dangerous path, a thousand decisions he could have made differently, which ones he’d made that lead them to that night, all stacking up and adding to the unbearable pressure in his head. Still… Gilbert found himself almost eerily calm. There was no changing what had happened. He could not bring himself to regret killing Konrad, left with no other choice. What was done, was done. What he was left with now was his friends, his family. </p><p>His shoulder still burned, and he rolled it back a few times to find no relief. Biting back a groan, Gilbert reached up and rubbed his hand over the aching spot over his sweater. Konrad’s death mask flashed through his mind. </p><p>From Feliciano’s open door, Gilbert could hear Erzsébet hushing Feliciano as he whimpered. She cast a long shadow onto the wall, as did Roderich. Gilbert watched them, a silhouette theatre, as he listened. </p><p>“Shhh, I know, we’re almost done now,” Erzsébet murmured. He could just barely tell, her figure distorted by the low angle of the bedside lamp, that she was petting Feli’s hair. </p><p>“We’ll have to change the bedding out,” Roderich said. “Or move him to a different room while it’s cleaned. I don’t have anything for the pain until he wakes up. Everyone will be wanting showers I’m sure, but there may not be enough hot water. Then someone will have to watch him through the night. We can take turns I suppose, I - shit, I’m running low on coffee, I should have-” </p><p>“Roderich,” Erzsé cut in, and her shadow moved, rounding the bed to stand nearer to him. “We can manage all that. Are you alright?” </p><p>There was a long pause. “No one is tonight, I suspect.” </p><p>Erzsébet hummed an affirmation, her shadow shifting from side to side on her feet, arms hugged over her body. “God, what a mess…”  she breathed. “What… what have we done, Roderich? Really, what…”</p><p>Again, Roderich was silent for a moment. Gilbert thought he might not respond, until he saw the silhouette of him slip his glasses off. His other hand came up to his face, and though Gilbert could not see exactly what he was doing, he could predict - the old habits, pinching the bridge of his nose, clenching his jaw too tightly, that tell tale twitch in his right hand. Erzsébet slipped her hand onto his shoulder. He sighed, straightened up, and looked back toward the bed. “All we could. That may be part of the problem.” </p><p>Gilbert dropped his head into his hand. The water was still running from the shower, and Erzsébet and Roderich continued to speak in hushed tones, but he couldn’t stand to listen to any of it any longer. His head remained tilted back against the wall. His eyes closed. He breathed in deeply, felt it fill his lungs, and when he exhaled the world was still in one piece. </p><p>Footsteps approaching too close snapped Gilbert out of his reverie. Minutes could have passed, and he wouldn’t have known. Gilbert’s eyes opened, his body tensing with a barely audible gasp, as he looked down the hall to find - Francis. The blond man was just standing at the top of the stairs, gaze focused on the open bedroom door, before dropping down to find Gilbert on the floor. He seemed unsure of himself, painfully out of place. He’d shed his coat, and any snow had melted into his hair by then, so he’d most likely gotten back to the house at the same time as Erzsébet and kept his distance.</p><p>“I am sorry,” Francis whispered, though there was really no reason to, as he cautiously walked down the hall. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stopped several feet back, well behind the invisible boundary line drawn between them. </p><p>Gilbert breathed out through his nose. “S’alright,” he grunted as he pushed himself up to his feet. </p><p>Francis nodded, but still did not dare to cross the borderland between them. He looked back to the bedroom. “Is he…”</p><p>“He’s hanging in there,” Gilbert reported. He leaned back against the wall; arms crossed over his chest. “It’s been… touch and go, I’m not gonna lie, but if he was going to…” he cleared his throat, unable to voice the truth of it, “he would have disappeared by now. Still… no guarantee, y’know?” </p><p>“No, there never is,” Francis muttered. </p><p>He seemed like he wanted to say more. He seemed like he wanted to say a lot. However, there was no chance to speak. The bathroom door opened, and through the steam and the soft light inside, Ludwig stepped out, cleaned and in fresh clothes, hair wet, and still looking just as haunted as he had before. Only now his eyes were rimmed with red. Ludwig did a good jump to conceal it, to not give much else away, but it was a singular detail that Gilbert could spot from a mile off. He couldn’t blame him. </p><p>The moment he stepped out of the bathroom; Gilbert pushed off the wall. Across the corridor, Francis stood up straighter, back rigid. Still, he did not seem afraid. Gilbert had seen Francis afraid. He knew the way it lied on his face, the upward pull of his brow, the way his mouth parted. This was something different all together. </p><p>“Lud,” Gilbert started slowly. “Hey, are you…” Asking if he was okay was stupid. Of course, he wasn’t okay. Gilbert shook his head. “He’s still in the room. Rod and Erzsé were just finishing cleaning him up, I think.” When Ludwig nodded, but did not say anything else, Gilbert held his breath and took the plunge. “Ludwig, how much do you-”</p><p>“Gilbert,” Ludwig’s voice was pained when he finally spoke, scrubbing his palm over his face. “I can’t. Not right now, please.” </p><p>“Alright,” Gilbert backed off immediately. Even he knew when not to push. “We don’t have to do this now.” </p><p>Ludwig nodded again, all he could seem to manage at the moment, but it was a silent thanks, nonetheless. He wasn’t raging, tearing the walls down in anger and betrayal. Not yet at least. Gilbert would concede to that win gladly. Moving to head back to the bedroom, gravitating back to Feliciano’s side, Ludwig stopped short of his first step when he noticed Francis for the first time, standing far back from them. Francis stiffened, but did not move, did not look away. He lifted his chin and faced Ludwig. It wasn’t defiance. It was pain. Regret, guilt, hundreds of years of it finally coming out in one, measured exhale. </p><p>Ludwig simply stared back at him. There was a silent conversation there, one Gilbert could not quite pick up on - but he could guess. He could guess what Ludwig was thinking, what final memories of his past life were playing through his mind, the last face he saw. Francis’ face. Francis’ hand driving the blade of his sword through the young boy’s chest. Gilbert could not know what that moment had looked like. He’d never been able to ask Francis what it had been like, the moment he killed his little brother. Even after a hundred years, he’d never been able to move past that. They just didn’t talk about it. </p><p>Gilbert wondered what Ludwig thought of him now, befriending his once-murderer. Ludwig didn’t know how they’d gotten there, the years of screaming, of violence, of long smoke-filled silences, and in truth… he didn’t need to. If Ludwig decided then and there that it was an unforgivable betrayal, all Gilbert could do was accept it. </p><p>Still… that wasn’t what was happening. He didn’t think so. Ludwig didn’t look angry, he just… acknowledged Francis, raising his own chin in an exhausted nod, every breath in that hallway suspended as they waited for his verdict. Francis stood on the other side of the corridor; his soul being weighed on the scales. And then Ludwig turned, and he walked back into Feliciano’s bedroom without a word. </p><p>Francis shuddered the moment Ludwig was out of sight, bringing his hand up to his face for a moment. Gilbert watched the shadow of his brother moving into the room, taking up a vigil beside Feliciano’s bed, before crossing the hall to his friend. He lifted his hand to pat him on the back, only to hesitate and let his arm fall back to his side. It was all past - but still, he couldn’t bring himself to touch him just yet. Too raw. It wasn’t Gilbert’s place for forgive Francis anymore. </p><p>“Listen,” he murmured. “If you want to help, Roderich mentioned needing new sheets. There’s some in the linen closet downstairs, by the kitchen. It’s something, at least…”</p><p>Francis nodded, offering Gilbert a weak smile. “I would be happy to, thank you,” he said, though his attention drifted to the golden halo of the bedroom. “But I am not so certain that I will be welcome to stay here.”</p><p>“Don’t be stupid,” Gilbert shook his head. “No one’s going to turn you out in the middle of the night.”</p><p>“You are sure?”</p><p>“Well… you might be getting a lump of coal in your stocking.”</p><p>Francis covered his mouth with his hand, but still couldn’t keep himself from snorting quietly. He shook his head. “That was <em>terrible</em>.” </p><p>“I know,” Gilbert replied with a faint smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, and even he knew it, as the brief moment of lightness passed. Gilbert sighed. “Francis, if you hadn’t brought Feliciano back, we wouldn’t have found Ludwig. We would have been too late.” </p><p>“Yes, but I brought him back, and he was nearly killed in return,” Francis replied, voice hoarse and subdued by the heavy quiet. </p><p>“Yeah, well, if we go down the chain of guilt here, we won’t get anywhere productive.” It was harsh, but it was true, and Gilbert knew that Francis appreciated nothing but the truth. Both their heads turned back toward the open bedroom door, as Feliciano moaned in pain and Ludwig’s low voice rumbled soft comforts neither of them could quite hear. Gilbert stood in the empty dark of that hallway and felt the stars realign above them, moving along, pulling their strings. “We cannot stop for all our sins,” he murmured, the words spilling out before they brushed his mind. </p><p>Francis was silent for a moment longer, before looking back to Gilbert and nodded. “Well then,” he said, “I suppose it’s a good thing we have an eternity to atone for them.”</p><p>Gilbert huffed a quiet laugh. “No one’s got eternity.” </p><p>Francis shrugged. “More time than most, at least. Time enough and time to spare.” </p><p>Those words resonating a deep chord within him, Gilbert felt his lips twitch in something that wasn’t quite a smile. He couldn’t find a response. Exhaustion was hitting him hard, and it was all he could do to keep himself on his feet. He was sure the others were feeling the same. It was going to be a long night. Finally, he turned and stepped into the bathroom. “Well then... Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” he said over his shoulder, lifting his hand in a lazy wave, before shutting the door behind him. </p><p>He stood there for a few minutes, until he heard Francis walking back down the stairs, probably to the linen closet as he’d suggested. Leaning back against the door, Gilbert closed his eyes, and groaned out a sigh as he rubbed his hand down his face. There was blood on his hands (and his face now, he realised a second too late), dried and caked on, but it was only his hands and a bit up his forearms. He’d wash his hands, and get changed, but leave the shower for Roderich or Erzsé to use. </p><p>There was still steam clinging to mirror, heavy in the air. The showerhead was still dripping and every drop on the ceramic tile of the shower was louder than it ought to be. Gilbert turned the faucet on and started on scrubbing his hands clean with scalding hot water and soap. It stung, but it was working, aside from a few stubborn spots he couldn’t get under his fingernails. When the water finally began to run clear, he dried his hands off. It was only then that he noticed the blood that had stained his shirt. Without thinking much else of it, he pulled the shirt off over his head, with the intention to bring it back into his room and wash it with the rest of his clothes later on. </p><p>But, as Gilbert lifted his arms up to peel the soiled shirt off, he was reminded harshly of the lingering ache in his shoulder, the phantom grip of Konrad still digging into muscle and bone. Gilbert winced and rolled his shoulder back, and when he looked in the mirror, the shirt fell from his fingers and onto the floor. </p><p>A grey mark marred the skin on his left shoulder. He thought it might be a dirty mark on the mirror, at first, but it moved with him as he shifted closer to get a better look. It was small, and spread out over his skin like a drop of ink on wet paper. Gilbert frowned, and reached up to try to rub it away, but it did not budge. The little veins stretched out from the centre of the mass like cracks… like the ones he’d seen spread over Konrad before he’d crumbled away into dust. </p><p>Gilbert had always thought he knew what doom felt like. He’d thought it was a javelin on a smooth arch through the air, sailing straight for him in the middle of a battle. He thought it was a sword to the gut. He thought it was a funeral. He thought it was Dissolution. All these years, he thought it was a harbinger of death, and now he realised that he’d only been half right. </p><p>Doom was an acceptance that the stars were empty, and your fate was a game of roulette where every chamber was loaded with a supernova.  </p><p>Or, in less dramatic terms; he was fucked. And he knew it. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay okay I know I'm breaking the tradition of one flashback scene per chapter but trust me on this. This is also... loosely edited so expect me to come back and clean it up later. As it is, I have so much caffeine in my system that I could fight God and I can't be arsed to do it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Munich, Present Day</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gilbert was always late, and really, who was counting anymore. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise at this point, and yet somehow, Ludwig always managed to act exasperated and disappointed. In all honesty, and it wasn’t without a hint of amusing irony, Gilbert sometimes wondered how exactly they were related. Was he the one to raise Ludwig, the one who’d been his drill commander, who instilled a deep respect and drive in him when he’d been a boy? Absolutely. Was Gilbert also the one who contradicted that at just about every turn for the past two centuries? Without a doubt. </p><p>And, as it so happened, he was also the one getting chewed out right now. </p><p>“Jesus, Lud, give me a chance to put my bags down, will you?” Gilbert rolled his eyes, not even attempting to hide his self-satisfied grin when it only served to make his high-strung brother more irritated. </p><p>“All I’m saying,” Ludwig sighed as he opened his apartment door from the hallway, “is that you could have at least called to say that you were going to be getting in late. We waited for you and haven’t had dinner yet. If we’d known you were going to be so late, we could have at least-” </p><p>Gilbert let out a long, rather obnoxious groan as he set his bags down at the front door. “God, give it a rest! I’m here, aren’t I? It’s not like I’m a full day behind. Besides, it’s the holidays,” he said, nudging Ludwig with his elbow. “Time for relaxing, spending time with people you love, and <em>not</em> annoying your favourite brother to death.” Gilbert slipped his scarf off his neck, tossing it in Ludwig’s face before the door had even closed behind them. “Lighten up, <em>Kid</em>.” </p><p>Peeling the scarf off his face, Ludwig glared back at his brother, before neatly hanging it up on the coat wrack. “Forgive me if I still haven’t quite recovered from <em>last</em> Christmas.” </p><p>“Last Christmas was a fluke, and you know that,” Gilbert fired back as he shed his coat. “So I kept your past hidden from you for two hundred years and it nearly got you killed. How long are you going to hold that one over my head?” </p><p>Ludwig took the coat from Gilbert setting it over the scarf on the hook. “Let me see… about two hundred years.” </p><p>The elder brother grinned. “And people say you don’t have a sense of humour.” </p><p>“Who said I was joking?” </p><p>“I know you better than that,” Gilbert replied. “Besides, no one can stay mad at me for that long. I’m too damn charming.” </p><p>Try as he might, Ludwig could not stifle the laugh that escaped his lips, no matter how exhausted it was. He hung his head for a moment before turning to face Gilbert without a trace of anger or resentment on his face - annoyance, yes, but that was pretty much a given at any point. Gilbert’s grin only widened - yes, he still had incredible regrets over what had happened last years, not just to Ludwig but to Feliciano as well. But, as he’d said that evening in Roderich’s home, he’d do it again. If that made him a horrible person, so be it, but Gilbert did not make the mistake of brushing off how lucky they’d gotten.</p><p>Ludwig shook his head, finally stepping out of the way so that Gilbert could take his boots off. “I’m not entirely sure about that, but I’ll give it to you,” he replied. “Did you want a coffee?” </p><p>“Sure, if you’re making some,” Gilbert kicked out of his shoes with at least enough decency to place them on the boot tray (he wasn’t an animal after all. Close, but not quite). </p><p>Leaving his brother to get settled, Ludwig headed into the kitchen. “The roads from Berlin weren’t too bad?” </p><p>“No, not at all. I left at three, and there was only a bit of snow through Potsdam but it didn’t put me back.” </p><p>“So, you left two hours after you said you would.” </p><p>“Let it go!” </p><p>As the two continued their bickering, the sound of a door opening on the other side of the apartment cut through their voices. Gilbert had just barely stepped inside before he suddenly found himself accosted by a lithe Italian practically jumping at him. He stumbled back a step with the force of pure, unadulterated enthusiasm - Feliciano’s arms already tight around his neck as he caught him in a tight hug. </p><p>“Gil!” Feliciano cheered. “You finally made it! It’s so good to see you! I was worried when you didn’t turn up by six, even though I knew you’re usually a bit late, I was just hoping nothing had happened to you on the drive down. Was it snowing when you left Berlin? It’s been on and off here all day.”</p><p>In a quick effort to recover, Gilbert patted Feliciano’s back and managed to negotiate himself out of the embrace. “Good to see you, Feli,” he laughed. “I was just telling Ludwig that the snow wasn’t so bad. How’ve you been?” As he asked the question, he couldn’t help but glance down at the italian’s chest. He could still picture the blooming red stain over his heart, remembered pulling the bullet out, like it’d happened a day ago. </p><p>Feliciano, for all that he was occasionally vapid or oblivious, took note of that subtle glance. He smiled back at Gilbert, absently rubbing his palm over the old wound.  “I’ve been just great! Ludwig and I just got back from the cottage near Neuschwanstein. We were thinking about just spending Christmas there until Roderich decided to host again after all.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gilbert commented. “I think, after everything, he figured it was more important to do it this year than even before.” </p><p>“Well, I’m glad he did. It would have just made it harder to ever do it again, and I know how much getting everyone together for Christmas means to him,” Feliciano said as he tugged Gilbert into the living room, practically pushing him into one of the soft armchairs. Feliciano, in turn, dropped onto the couch, already pulling a blanket over himself with a shiver. “He even invited Francis, Antonio, and Lovino, which sort of surprised me. I think it’ll be good though! We’ll replace the bad memories with some good ones.”</p><p>“Though to be fair,” Ludwig said as he joined them in the living room, carrying three steaming cups, “I think he may have taken on a little more than he was prepared to handle.” He finished that statement off with a pointed look at Gilbert as he passed him a mug.</p><p>Gilbert smirked. “What are you looking at me like that for? I’ll be on my best behavior, as I <em>always</em> am.” </p><p>“Around Antonio and Francis?” </p><p>“No promises.” </p><p>Ludwig could only pretend to be irritated, having already known fully well what Gilbert’s response was going to be. He passed Feliciano one of the cups as he rounded the couch to sit down, complying when Feli placed his hand on the side of his face and guided him down for a peck on the cheek in thanks. The moment Ludwig settled in, Feliciano was leaning against his side. Gilbert had to raise his cup to his mouth just to keep from smiling (and most likely embarrassing Ludwig). The difference in the two of them over the past year was nothing short of incredible. With nothing to hide and nothing to hold back any longer, they’d both become endlessly more comfortable with these casual displays of affection. Gilbert also hadn’t failed to notice that he was the only one with travel bags here - Feliciano’s clothes were all moved in to Ludwig’s closet and wardrobe. No more hiding.</p><p>“It’ll be fun,” Feliciano insisted. “Lovino will at least keep Antonio under control, and Erzsé-”</p><p>“Might… not actually be coming,” Gilbert interrupted carefully before Feliciano could finish that thought and get his hopes up. </p><p>Feliciano’s face fell completely. “What? Why not?”</p><p>Shrugging awkwardly, Gilbert shifted in his seat and took a sip of his coffee - decaf, he could already taste the bitter difference. Figures. “Well, I don’t think she completely agreed with Roderich’s insistence on still hosting Christmas this year, especially not at the Estate. She said it just felt wrong, and she didn’t want to be a downer when everyone else was trying to have fun. Or, at least that’s what she told me on the phone, last time we talked.” </p><p>The Italian shook his head fervently. “She has to come! It wouldn’t be the same without her.”</p><p>“You should text her,” Gilbert smiled. “She has a hard time saying no to you.” </p><p>“I’m not so sure about that,” Feliciano sighed, though he didn’t hold back on the light laugh that flooded from his lips. “She used to say no to me all the time, and she didn’t seem to find it difficult at all. In fact, I think it might’ve just been second nature.”  </p><p>Ludwig laid his arm over the back of the couch, just above Feliciano’s shoulders, as he reclined against the cushions. “There was that time…” he began, face screwing up in concentration as he grappled with some distant memory, “that she refused to let you keep a pig in the stables…”</p><p>“Close,” Feliciano corrected, his smile brightening as he directed his attention up at Ludwig, “but it was a donkey. I named him Mimo.”</p><p>Ludwig shook his head. “Right, yes, I remember that. It chewed through my coat.” </p><p>“You were too busy yelling at me and threatening to tell Erzsébet that I’d kept it anyway to notice you were backed right up to him,” Feliciano laughed. “I think you got what was coming to you.” </p><p>“And you were in trouble for a week.” </p><p>“Only because you were a tattle tale.”</p><p>Chuckling as he let his arm fall over Feliciano’s shoulders, Ludwig pulled him in a little closer. “And this was in… 1630?” </p><p>“That’s right, Ludwig,” Feliciano beamed, an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes as he eagerly leaned against Ludwig’s side. </p><p>Gilbert watched them with an undeniable warmth in his chest, decades of guilt on his part slowly easing off his shoulders. Ludwig was right about last year, what had happened at Christmas - it’d been fucking horrific, and no one could have predicted the way it would turn out. But Gilbert would do it again. They’d gone on the only information they had, the only things they could discern from themselves on the consequences of Ludwig remembering his past, and they had done what they’d thought they needed to at the time. That Ludwig and Feliciano had both been heartbroken was a necessary evil.</p><p>That was all in the past now, though. Gilbert had only seldom been as happy to leave an era of his life in the past - yes, some eras more than others and there were plenty that trumped this, but he’d write it down alongside them all just the same. There was some good to come out of this, some peace, and for Gilbert that was more than worth it, no matter how bittersweet. Feliciano had it the worst of all of them, no thanks in part to Gilbert being so hard on him. If he was being honest… Feliciano had terrified him. Gilbert could see plain as anything, even back in the 90’s, that while Feliciano being close to Ludwig was the largest danger to his brother, he was also the only person who could make Ludwig himself. That sort of magnetism had been a threat, and not one that Gilbert had taken lightly. </p><p>But now here they were, the three of them having a calm evening together. Ludwig and Feliciano were openly affectionate with one another, Feli held no ill will or grudge against Gilbert, and… well, Gilbert knew that he and Ludwig still had a lot of hash out, things they hadn’t really touched on much over the past year, but things were good. In all honesty, Gilbert had never truly believed that he’d see this day. He’d never been more glad to be proven wrong. </p><p>They sat out in the living room talking for a while longer before Gilbert noticed Feliciano slowly drifting off. He should have known Ludwig would have put on the decaf coffee at this hour. The Italian faded with his head on Ludwig’s shoulder, still holding the mug in his hands long after it’d gone cold. When he’d finally fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation about the next conference, Ludwig carefully maneuvered the mug out of his hands and set it on the table. Feliciano barely stirred, hands flopping back into his lap almost comically - it was like watching a sleeping puppy. </p><p>“Been meaning to ask,” Gilbert began, keeping his voice low - not that it’d make much of a difference, anyway. Feliciano had always been an alarmingly heavy sleeper. He leaned forward, setting his own coffee cup down on the table. “How’s he been?” </p><p>It’d been a few months since he’d last seen Feliciano. Gilbert had made it a point over the past year to check up on him, and more specifically…</p><p>Ludwig sighed, casting a glance down at his lover with a tight pull in his brow. “He’s been just fine… or that’s what he’s said. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, and he says it doesn’t irritate him anymore, but…” he trailed off there. Shifting Feliciano carefully against his side, Ludwig pulled down the loose neckline of Feliciano’s sweater. </p><p>Gilbert got up off his chair, crossing the short distance around the coffee table and leaning over to get a better look. Sure enough, just over his heart there lie a patch of discoloured scar tissue. Gilbert frowned, reaching out to graze his fingers over it. Feliciano did not so much as stir in his sleep. He sighed, retracting his hand as Ludwig let go over the neckline, adjusting it back in place. “He should be completely healed by now,” he murmured. “There shouldn’t even be a scar left behind.” </p><p>That, most Nations new from experience and centuries of War. Gilbert couldn’t count the times he’d been shot, stabbed, or maimed in some fashion. It always hurt like fucking hell, that much was a universal “human” experience, but it never managed to kill any of the Nations. A wound inflicted by another Nation, however, was an entirely different story. </p><p>“I know,” Ludwig sighed, frustration pent up in his voice. “Every time I try to bring it up, Feliciano changes the subject, or tries to tell me not to worry so much.” </p><p>Gilbert passed his fingers back through his hair, scratching his scalp as he thought it over. He did not return to his armchair, opting instead to pace by the window. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe Konrad was still... one of us, just enough that…” </p><p>“God, I don’t want to think about that,” Ludwig confessed. The chance that he really could have killed Feliciano was a thought neither of them were eager to entertain. Feliciano finally shifted in his sleep, letting out a long, content sigh as he nuzzled up against Ludwig - as if the only thing that could stir him was sensing his distress. Ludwig watched him with a look that bordered between adoration and fear, kissing the crown of his head and rubbing his hand up and down Feliciano’s arm. </p><p>Gilbert stopped pacing just to watch for a moment. “Well… that important thing is that he’s okay. If a scar is the only damage, it’s better than the alternative,” he said. </p><p>It was at that moment, caught entirely unaware, that Gilbert could have sworn he saw a face out of the corner of his eyes. That was all - just a face, out in the darkness above the city. Gilbert snapped his head toward the window, half expecting to see a street lamp, or the moon rising above the rooftops, something that could have mimicked the shape and colour of a figure looking through the window - but there was nothing there. Gilbert blinked, squeezed his eyes shut, and looked back at the window. Still, there wasn’t even a glare of light on the frosted glass. </p><p>“...Gilbert? Gilbert,” Ludwig called out, still trying to keep his voice low enough not to risk waking Feliciano. </p><p>Gilbert shook his head, finally turning his head away from the window (though it wasn’t without a feeling of turning your back on a dark hallway or an open door, the hairs on the back of your neck raising in some primal instinct warning of danger). “Uh, sorry. Yeah?” </p><p>Ludwig’s eyes flickered over to the window, where Gilbert had been staring. “Are you alright?” </p><p>“Yeah, of course,” Gilbert answered too quickly. He made a show of stretching his arms over his head. “Just spaced out for a second there. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you get him to bed? We can go somewhere for breakfast in the morning, my treat.” </p><p>Though he did not seem entirely convinced, Ludwig did not argue. Pressing his mouth to the side of Feliciano’s head, he whispered in his ear and gradually began to coax him awake again. Feliciano was always a little irritable when he was woken up suddenly. Best to take it easy. With a long, pathetic moan, Feliciano did eventually stir, at which point Ludwig guided the half asleep Italian to his feet and began to guide him toward the master bedroom. Feliciano yawned, but cooperated all the same. In the doorway, Ludwig paused to turn back to his brother again. </p><p>“The guest room is ready for you,” he said, still a little wary as he watched Gilbert. “You’re not going to bed now?” </p><p>“Hm? Oh, no, I’m still a little restless, I think. Y’know, from the drive,” Gilbert shrugged. “I’ll probably just read a little before hittin’ the hay.” </p><p>Well, maybe that was the wrong excuse, because Ludwig only seemed more disbelieving. Thankfully, however, he didn’t push the matter any more. With quiet goodnights exchanged, Ludwig stepped inside his bedroom and closed the door with a soft click. Gilbert was left in the dark flat, standing in the middle of the living room. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes before even daring to look back at the window - again, there was nothing. Maybe it hadn’t been a total lie - he probably was just tired from the long drive from Berlin. </p><p>Or, he was simply losing his mind. That was a very real possibility. </p><p>It was easy enough to forget, once he’d let the strange image go. Gilbert brought his bags into the guest room, changing into sweats and a t-shirt for the night. Still a little too restless to go to sleep just yet, true to his word, Gilbert eventually found himself in the armchair once again, scrolling through his phone with the brightness turned all the way down. Twitter, he was finding, was just up his alley in humour and general mischief - he’d already gotten several strongly worded emails from the chancellor telling him to stop releasing classified secrets about the Nations on social media. A major win in his book. </p><p>As he was mindlessly watching a compilation video of funny dogs, he was briefly interrupted by a notification that Erzsébet, a simple text that had him pausing the video and opening it to read. </p><p>
  <em>Made it to Munich alright? EH</em>
</p><p>Gilbert clicked on her name above the text, tapping through the option to call her number. A picture of her bloomed onto the screen, dimmed under a dark filter while the call connected. It was a photo he’d taken the last time they’d hung out, back in the summer, of her flipping him off after she’d spilled her beer on her skirt. He chuckled to himself as he lifted the phone to his ear, waiting for her to answer. His eyes traced the crown mouldings along the walls and ceiling until he heard the ringing stop. </p><p>“Gil?” Erzsébet asked, completely skipping the Hellos. “Everything okay?” </p><p>To be fair, Gilbert hadn’t really considered that calling immediately after a text about getting somewhere safely may have not been the best idea. “Oh shit, yeah, everything’s fine,” he replied. “Just got your text and felt like calling. I made it just fine. A bit behind schedule, but that’s it.” </p><p>“God, don’t do that, asshole,” Erzsébet sighed on the other end. “You scared the shit out of me.”</p><p>Gilbert grinned up at the ceiling. “Sorry,” he said, though the tone in his voice clearly suggested he was anything but. </p><p>“Anyway,” Erzsébet continued, and Gilbert could almost hear her rolling her eyes in her tone alone, “how’s Feli? And Ludwig?” </p><p>“They’re fine. Feliciano was really disappointed that you’re ditching us this year,” Gilbert drawled, laying on the guilt thick. </p><p>Erzsébet groaned. “Ugh, don’t tell me that.” </p><p>“Even looked like he might tear up a bit.” </p><p>“Stop it.” </p><p>Gilbert did let up at that point. Even he knew when not to cross a line - not always, and to be honest sometimes he danced on that line, but he wasn’t feeling it today. “It’s not too late, you know,” he said, stretching out over the cushions as he looked out the window. In spite of the late hour, the city was still glowing with gentle light, silhouetting the dark spires of its ancient buildings. “You could still hop on a train. Hell, you’d probably make it there before we did.” </p><p>Erzsébet sighed again, but there was a weariness even Gilbert could pick up on, a drawn out exhale shuddering with conflicted emotion. He could hear her shift against soft fabric - probably already in bed, reading like she usually did before she fell asleep. “Gilbert…” she began. “I just - I can’t, I’ve told you that already. It just doesn’t feel right.” </p><p>“Roderich doesn’t seem to think so,” Gilbert reminded her. “If anything, I think he wanted to host even more this year.” When Erzsébet didn’t respond, Gilbert pushed himself to sit upright with a grunt, bracing his elbows on his knees as he carded his fingers back through his hair. “Erzsé, we have to move on from it at some point. Even Feliciano agrees.” </p><p>“Yes, well I’m not Feliciano,” Erzsébet snapped. “Or Roderich, or you. I can’t just… brush things off like you can.” </p><p>Gilbert didn’t take kindly to that. “I haven’t <em>brushed off</em> anything that happened,” he replied with the same bite in his voice. </p><p>“I know!” Erzsé moaned. “God, I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just… I can’t let it go so easily. We almost lost Feliciano, Gil. We could have lost Ludwig. And… and Konrad…” </p><p>“Konrad brought his own end upon himself,” Gilbert finished. “He was blinded by his own anger and jealousy. He left us no choice.” </p><p>The slow exhale that Erzsébet let out on the other end of the line said more than she could with words - she knew that well, understood it as logical, and even looking back knew that they’d been left with no other options at the time. After Konrad had shot Feliciano, all bets were off. Even still though, it left a bitter taste on the tongue. Nothing was just that simple. </p><p>“I just don’t know, Gilbert…” Erzsébet finally spoke again, her voice quiet. </p><p>Gilbert dropped his head between his shoulders, letting his chin touch his chest as he closed his eyes. “I get it, Erzsé…” he replied, voice just as quiet and unwilling to break any fragile silence. “Feli and the others will understand. They’ll miss you, but they’ll understand.” </p><p>Erzsébet laughed over the line, the sound only a slight breath, but there in her voice all the same. “And you and Roderich?” </p><p>“We might hold a grudge for a couple decades, but we’ll get over it eventually.” </p><p>This time, Erzsébet truly laughed, but even that was short lived, dying off in a melancholy quiet. Gilbert found himself straining his ears, listening for any sort of movement or sound from her that might give him - he wasn’t sure. A better picture, maybe, a clue of some sort to how she was really feeling. What was she doing, thinking at this moment. He could picture her, leaning against the window and touching the cool glass as she spoke. She had a habit of biting her lip. Maybe that was what had been prompting her periodic silences. The fact that he didn’t know was well on its way to driving him insane. </p><p>Gilbert didn’t like not knowing things. Case in point to his entire life. </p><p>Finally, Erzsébet sighed again, the symptom of a pensive disposition. “We’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t we, Gilbert?” </p><p>Gilbert frowned, pushing off the sofa to stand and wander over to the window. He found himself leaning against the cold glass as he imagined she might be doing, watching it fog at the heat of his breath and his skin. “I mean, things turned out alright, didn’t they?” he asked.</p><p>“I wasn’t talking about last Christmas.” </p><p>“Neither was I.” </p><p>And once again, Erzsébet went silent, the two of them letting those weighted words settle heavily over their shoulders. “It’s getting late,” she murmured. “I’ve got a meeting at Parliament early in the morning.” </p><p>Smothering his disappointment, Gilbert dropped his head for a moment before replying. “I’ll let you go, then.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Erzsébet breathed. “And Gilbert… if I don’t talk to you again until then… Merry Christmas. Give everyone a hug for me. Or a slap, depending on who it is.” </p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” Gilbert chuckled. “Good night, Erzsébet.” </p><p>“... Good night, Gilbert.” </p><p>With nothing more to say, no more reasons to stall, Erzsébet ended the call with a soft beeping noise on the other end of the line. Gilbert kept his phone raised to his ear for a moment longer before allowing his hand to drop back down to his side. He didn’t really know what he’d expected out of the call, but still somehow felt almost a little let down - as if whatever unknown expectations he did have were thrown onto the ground and stomped on. </p><p>Well, maybe he shouldn’t say unknown. Deep down, he knew that he had wished he could convince Erzsébet to come for the holidays. More than anything he just didn’t like the idea of her being alone for Christmas, knew the way she could get in her own head and spend days in a depressive episode. Trying to force and pressure her into coming would be just as awful, though. It was a difficult situation, and not something Gilbert could cleverly figure a way out of - not this time. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Gilbert gazed out over the midnight city. The streets below were strung up with twinkling lights and garlands of evergreens, already polished and decorated for the season. It was, you know… <em>Bavaria</em>, and not exactly his own home territory, but even he could appreciate the quaint spendor of Munich around this time. </p><p>On the street, Gilbert watched as a horse drawn carriage, all done up in a gaudy rendition of 19th century style that was more postcard than historically accurate, trotted down the lane, no doubt heading back to the stables to retire from a long day of carting tourists around. No one was out at this hour for the driver to pick up. Except, maybe for one. Gilbert only noticed the man as an afterthought, as the carriage rolled by. He was standing in the cone of light cast down by a street lamp above his head - and he was staring up at him. </p><p>Gilbert frowned, shifting off the window so he could look down head on. The man was staring at him. He was staring <em>at</em> him. Not at the building, not at the only window with any light or movement. The man on the street was staring directly at Gilbert, locked with his eyes, head craned up toward him. A chill ran down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. From that distance, it was difficult to see clearly, but the man almost looked like…</p><p>Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut. He scrubbed his palm over his face, knuckles rubbing into his eyes. God, he hadn’t thought he was <em>that</em> overtired, but it seemed like that lack of sleep was getting to him. Gilbert had never really been one to sleep well, or really at all when it came to particularly bad stretches. He’d gone one some pretty bad trips in the past due to insomniatic episodes, gone manic and moody, but he’d never started <em>hallucinating</em>. Well, first for everything he supposed, and probably a good a sign as any that it was time to at least try to lay down and get a couple hour’s rest. With that in mind, Gilbert pushed off the window, intent on raiding Ludwig’s kitchen cabinets for any chance that he had a tea on hand. It was either that or his sleeping pills at this point, and he’d rather avoid slipping into a mild coma for the next day and a half - those things were strong enough to knock out a horse. </p><p>So, Gilbert stood upright again and dropped his hand from his face, opening his eyes and already turning toward the kitchen. But there was a face in the window, inches away from his own through the thick glass. Not just a reflection, no. Emotionless and staring with a dead-eyed gaze straight through him, Gilbert came quite literally face to face with Ernst, old Saxony, a man who had been dead for well over twenty years. </p><p>Choking on a startled shout, Gilbert stumbled backwards, knocking into the coffee table and toppling over it in an attempt to put as much distance as possible between himself and the apparition in the window. He went careening back, the coffee table tipping over with the sudden force. His long-cold coffee mug went flying, spilling onto his shirt, before shattering on the ground beside him. All the while, Gilbert never took his eyes away from those watching him from the glass. It wasn’t until he really hit the ground, and hard, head smacking against the leg of the arm chair, that his gaze did finally snap away from the window. Gilbert squeeze his eyes shut as his head exploded for a moment with pain. </p><p>Before it had even dulled to a throb, the door to the master bedroom was thrown open, and heavy footfall came rushing out. “Gilbert?!” Ludwig called out, faultering only to survey the damage before kneeling down beside his brother. “Gilbert, what happened? What’s going on?” </p><p>“Lud- fuck, look!” Gilbert shouted, pointing toward the window. “Look, there’s-” </p><p>There was nothing there. Gilbert gaped at the empty window pane where the face of the deadman had been looking in on him. Ludwig followed his finger to the window, frowning when he saw the clear lack of - well, anything. Brushing off his brother’s hands from his shoulder, Gilbert scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table again in the process. Running across the living room, Gilbert pressed his hands against the glass, looking down in search of the man on the street - nothing. It wasn’t physically possible for the man to have scaled the building in so short a time, but Gilbert <em>knew</em> what he saw. With a frustrated grunt, Gilbert pushed off the window and raced to the balcony door on the far end of the room. He threw open the double doors, a gust of wind and snow blowing into the apartment. Rushing out onto the balcony, Gilbert braced his hands on the rail and leaned over so hard he thought for a moment he might topple over. </p><p>Gilbert looked for someone standing on some kind of ledge outside the window, but the exterior walls of the building were smoothe. His gaze snapped up to the roof, searching for any sort of line that could have carried the man down. When he saw nothing, his eyes turned down to the street, half expecting to see a body laying crushed on the pavement. </p><p>Nothing. Not so much as a footprint in the steadily falling snow. Gilbert struggled to catch his breath, the adrenaline and fear slowly fading as the cold air hit his skin. He swallowed hard, feeling his chest burn up in the aftermath. Within moments, Ludwig’s shadow had fallen over him, as he slowly approached him from the balcony door. Gilbert could not turn to face him. </p><p>“Gilbert…” Ludwig began cautiously, the amber lights of the flat behind him casting a dark shadow over his concerned face. “Are you alright?” </p><p>The elder brother’s hands tightened around the rain, so frozen by the winter that Gilbert was almost afraid the heat of his hands would fuze his skin to the iron. “I’m…” a chuckle burst humourlessly from his chest as he shook his head and finally turned to face Ludwig. “Yeah, I’m fine. Must’ve been half asleep and thought I saw something… just a nightmare. Go back to bed, I’ll clean up.” </p><p>Ludwig did not seem convinced in the slightest. He reached out toward Gilbert’s shoulder. “You’re sure-”</p><p>Gilbert brushed Ludwig’s hand aside before he could touch him, already stepping past him and into the warmth of the apartment. “I owe you a new coffee mug,” he waved over his shoulder. With his back turned, Gilbert could not see Ludwig’s reaction, but there was a hesitation before Ludwig closed the balcony door and locked it shut. Gilbert bent down, already picking up the broken pieces of ceramic, just to avoid Ludwig’s gaze as he heard him walk across the living room and back into the master suite. He did glance up out of the corner of his eye when Ludwig had finally passed behind him, catching a glimpse of Feliciano sitting up in bed with a yawn. He just barely heard Feli ask what was going on, Ludwig hushing him before he closed the door once again. The moment he was alone in the living room, Gilbert dropped the ceramic pieces. </p><p>Crouching on the floor, Gilbert pushed his hands back through his hair, gripping at the roots as if the stinging pain would remind him that he was, in fact awake - that this was all real. He knew what he’d seen. That face in the window had been as real as the cold, stale coffee pooling on the floor, as his own reflecting in the dark liquid. That fact, somehow, didn’t bring him much comfort. Gilbert knew what he saw, but he didn’t know <em>what the fuck he just saw</em>. Didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t know what it meant, could barely stand to think about that haunting image for too long without feeling his heart palpitate. </p><p>In the end, he decided that the little white lie he’d told Ludwig was actually the truth. He’d been half asleep, tired as all hell from the long day. The conversation with Erzsébet had turned his thoughts dark, and the guilt that had already been eating away at him for years flared up like an acid reflux. It felt a bad taste in his mouth. </p><p>So, settling on that for his own piece of mind, Gilbert began cleaning up his mess. He collected the broken mug in a plastic bag, mopped up the spilled coffee, and turned the table right side up again. That done, he turned out all of the lights in the flat and made his way into the guest room to turn in for the night. </p><p>All the while, he kept his back to the windows. </p><p> </p><p>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p>There were times, still, when Feliciano found he had not gotten used to waking up like this in the early morning. Even after a year truly reunited with Ludwig again, and even the many years they’d spent together before their tragic split, Feliciano still found himself waking up on cold, crisp mornings like this almost surprised to find Ludwig in his bed. Well, yes, technically it was Ludwig’s bed, but they’d been sharing it long enough now that Feliciano had considered it home. </p><p>And even in spite of all that, there was never a morning that the thrill and heart flooding adoration did not stop Feliciano or the breath in his chest, the moment he opened his eyes to see Ludwig lying with him. It never got old. He never wanted it to. </p><p>That particular morning, he woke up to find himself lying on his back, with his much larger, much <em>heavier</em> lover half draped over top of him. Ludwig had his head on his chest, arms wrapped around Feliciano’s slighter waist like he was a pillow. Feliciano was sleeping in one of Ludwig’s long sleeve shirts, an item that he had so devilishly stolen from his wardrobe and claimed as his own, while Ludwig tended to sleep without a shirt on. The effect was Ludwig radiating warmth and a comforting weight on top of him, the two of them wrapped up in clean white sheets on that snowy morning. </p><p>With a content sigh, Feliciano cuddled down under the blankets, closer to Ludwig, arms draped around him. He began to card his fingers through his blonde hair, unruly and so unfairly charming when it was unstyled like this. As he did, Ludwig moaned in his sleep, holding Feliciano a little tighter. Feliciano only laughed quietly, dipping his head down to kiss the top of Ludwig’s head as he continued to massage his scalp. Feliciano did not bother to look at the alarm clock. It was still just slightly dark outside, a silver morning peaking through the violet dawn. God, a year living with him, and Ludwig was already making Feliciano an early riser. </p><p>Ludwig inhaled deeply, letting it all out in one go through his nose. Feliciano knew at that point that he was awake, but neither of them seemed too keen on getting up just yet - maybe Feliciano was also having an influence on him. </p><p>“I had a dream last night,” Ludwig murmured, turning his face in against Feliciano’s chest to press a kiss over his heart - a sweet little habit he’d picked up over the past year. </p><p>Feliciano hummed, closing his eyes with a soft smile. “And so did I.” </p><p>“Well,” Ludwig turned his head up, chin resting against Feliciano, “what was yours?” </p><p>“That dreamers often lie.” </p><p>It took a moment for  the quote to sink in, and Feliciano could not help but laugh a little at the confusion, recognition, and finally amusement that lit up Ludwig’s face. Ludwig chuckled, pressing his forehead against Feliciano’s collar bone. </p><p>Picking up his massage again, Feliciano idled himself with playing with Ludwig’s hair again. “What was it?” he asked, genuinely curious this time. </p><p>Ludwig seemed to think about it for a moment, still grasping at the wisping ends of the dream as consciousness pulled it back like a silk veil. As he tried to remember the details, a frown made its home in the knot between his brows. </p><p>Feliciano caressed his hand down the side of Ludwig’s face, settling on his cheeks. “Was it a bad dream?” he asked. </p><p>“No,” Ludwig answered, though he did not seem all that sure about it anymore. “It wasn’t a bad dream, persay. It was just… Konrad, and Ernst.” </p><p>“So, not a bad dream. A horrible dream,” Feliciano muttered, swiping his thumb gently along Ludwig’s cheekbone. </p><p>“But it wasn’t,” Ludwig sighed, almost frustrated with himself for not being able to articulate it. “Nothing happened, they were just… there. It was strange.” </p><p>Feliciano bit his lip, hating to see Ludwig so troubled. “Well, whatever it was, I believe we can rule it out as a memory,” he said, hooking his finger under Ludwig’s chin to guide his face up closer to his. “It was nothing.” </p><p>Though Ludwig did not verbally agree, he did not argue either. All too eager to comply, Ludwig shifted, lifting himself on his forearms so he could lean up closer and kiss Feliciano properly. Feliciano held Ludwig’s face in his hands, tilting his head into the kiss. A draft of cold air flooded under the blankets when Ludwig’s movement lifted them, but his lover’s body was so warm that Feliciano found that he did not mind in the slightest. </p><p>The clatter of pans out in the kitchen broke the kiss. Feliciano and Ludwig both turned their heads toward the door, where the sounds of someone cooking, or at least attempting too, were already loud and did not seem to be stopping any time soon. Ludwig dropped his head, pressing his forehead against Feliciano’s collarbone with a long groan before rolling off of him to sit on the edge of the bed. </p><p>“I’m worried about Gilbert,” he confessed, as a curse muffled through the walls sounded from the kitchen. </p><p>Feliciano frowned, gathering the blankets around him as he moved to sit by Ludwig’s back. He rested his chin against his shoulder. “Worried about Gilbert? Why, is he feeling ill?” </p><p>“No,” Ludwig shook his head. “I mean, not that I’ve been able to tell anyway. It’s just that he was acting… strangely last night.” </p><p>“Does this have something to do with the noise? And why you were out of bed?” Feliciano, for his part, didn’t remember much of that. By the time he’d woken up after hearing the noise, Ludwig was already coming back to bed and telling him not to worry about it - being still half-asleep and motivated to be <em>fully</em> asleep, Feliciano hadn’t given it another thought, and tugged Ludwig back under the covers with him. Looking back on it now, though, his memory cleared somewhat. He recalled Ludwig looking troubled when he’d come back inside, and Gilbert’s manic shouting before that. </p><p>Gilbert was eccentric and rowdy at times, sure, but this was something different. </p><p>Ludwig did not answer straight away. Feliciano wound his arms around him from behind, offering what little comfort he could. Turning his head to kiss Feliciano’s cheek, Ludwig laid his hands over the Italians. “I’ve never seen him like that,” Ludwig finally muttered. “He was manic, talking about seeing something outside the window, but when he looked again… there was nothing there, and he turned back to me like nothing had happened. He looked…” Ludwig trailed off, “scared.” </p><p>Feliciano gave Ludwig a squeeze. “It’s <em>Gilbert</em>,” he tried to reassure him with a smile. “He’ll be alright. He always is, somehow.”</p><p>If the noise coming from the kitchen was any indicator of that, it was true at least. </p><p>Ludwig left the conversation at that, carefully unwrapping himself from Feliciano’s hold. Feliciano put up a bit of a fight at the prospect of getting out of bed, making a poor attempt at convincing Ludwig to say with him for a little while longer - to no success of course. And, without his main heat source, Feliciano had little keeping him under the rapidly cooling sheets. Not without whining about it (as with most things in his life), Feliciano followed Ludwig to the door and out into the flat. </p><p>The sight they were met with was shocking, to say the very least. They’d discerned already that Gilbert was awake and in the kitchen. What they didn’t expect was the veritable scene of carnage that unfolded across the marble counters. It looked like a flour mill had exploded. The sound of something sizzling in a pan over the burner competed with the hiss and drip of the coffee maker. And Gilbert was in the middle of it all, currently attempting to negotiate some monstrocity between a pancake and a crepe out of the pan it was stuck to. By negotiating, of course, he was swearing at it profuselly as he tried to scrape it out with the spatula. It took the floorboards creaking under Ludwig’s feet as he stepped out into the flat for Gilbert to finally look up. </p><p>“G’morning!” he cheered, waving the spatula at them. </p><p>Feliciano tentatively raised his hand to wave back, still surveying the mess in the kitchen. “Ah, good morning, Gilbert…” he stammered out as he walked ahead of Ludwig into the kitchen. He spared one glance behind him, already able to <em>feel</em> the confusion and frustration radiating off of Ludwig toward his elder brother - frustration with the mess currently coming out on top. “It, um… it looks like you’ve been busy already this morning.” </p><p>“Well,” Gilbert shrugged, still holding the spatula in one hand and the entire burnt crepe in the other, “I was hungry, and I can never sit still when I’m hungry, so I thought, ‘yknow, I’d get a head start!” </p><p>“Uh- oh, yes of course,” Feliciano smiled. He took a seat at the island counter, hands in his lap as he spotted, with some measure of horror, the pile of already charcoal burnt crepe remains on a plate in the centre of the table. “Well, how did you sleep last night? Have you been up for long?” </p><p>Gilbert did not answer that question. Whether he simply didn’t notice or was pretending he hadn’t heard, he spun around and turned his back to Feliciano, muttering under his breath until he finally managed to coax the crepe out - only for it to crumble. He heaved a sigh, tossing it onto the discard pile. “Wanted to try this recipe Francis gave me, since I’m always buggin’ for these things when I’m at his place.” </p><p>Feliciano attempted a smile. “Well! Practice makes perfect… I guess,” he said as he watched Gilbert dump a cup of the thin batter into the same pan again. “Do you, um… want any help?” </p><p>“Nah, I’ve got it!” Gilbert waved him off from over his shoulder. “You two just relax, I have this covered. I made some coffee if you wanted some! Go ahead and pour yourselves a cup.” </p><p>With a deep frown, Ludwig walked over to the coffee maker on the other side of the kitchen, he removed the pot, touching the glass side before pouring a glass. Looking up at Feliciano again, he mouthed <em>“it’s cold”</em> to him and subtly tried to put the pot back without his brother noticing. Gilbert had clearly already been up for a while now, if he even went to sleep at all. </p><p>Feliciano pursed his lips, glancing anxiously between Ludwig and Gilbert. He couldn’t make any sense of it. Gilbert had seemed perfectly fine when he’d fallen asleep last night. He’d seemed normal - normal for Gilbert, at least. Feliciano knew that at some point in the night, Ludwig had gone out into the living room to find Gilbert in a state of frenzy, manic over something he thought he’d seen in the window. What exactly had <em>happened </em>to bring about this change literally overnight? Gilbert had always been… eccentric, to put it mildly, and Feliciano knew that he suffered from bouts of insomnia, but this was an entirely new behaviour. </p><p>The kitchen was beginning to smell too much like smoke. Ludwig sent a wary glance up to his smoke detector before heading into the living room to open a window. </p><p>“Gilbert…” Feliciano began slowly, slipping off his chair and padding barefoot across the tiled kitchen floor. Stretching up on his toes, he turned the fan on over the burner. Gilbert didn’t even seem to notice. Feliciano grabbed a second plate of somewhat salvageable crepes. “These crepes look great! This should be more than enough for all of us.” </p><p>Gilbert made a face, eyeing up the plate as if to measure it against his expectations. “Really? It’s not that many.”</p><p>Granted, there were only about five, and the fifth looked a little questionable, but Feliciano pressed on. “But you’re forgetting about the fillings! They’re so much thicker with the fillings.”</p><p>“Oh…” Gilbert blinked, looking more than a little lost standing in the middle of the kitchen with the spatula still raised in his hand. “Right.” </p><p>“Right,” Feliciano echoed with a smile. “So, why don’t you let Ludwig and I get the toppings set up? It’s only fair that we split the work. Then we can eat them together. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Gilbert paused a moment, before opening his mouth as if to argue, but Feliciano cut him off before he could get a word out. “Of course it would!” he quickly set aside the plate so he could take Gilbert’s arm and guide him into the living room. “Come on, let’s put a show on,” he beamed as he slipped the spatula from his fingers. </p><p>It did not take long. About ten minutes of TV, a bit of prodding from Feliciano to lay down and relax, accompanied by Ludwig already turning on the kitchen sink faucet - and Gilbert was out cold in a matter of minutes. He fell asleep almost alarmingly easy, after Feli had coaxed him to lay on his side, pretending to watch an infomercial channel with him (it’d been the first thing Feli had flicked too, to be fair). As Ludwig worked on damage control in his kitchen, Feliciano waited until he was certain Gilbert was asleep before carefully extracting himself from the couch. Sure enough, he did not so much as budge.  </p><p>“Is he…?” Ludwig began, wiping his hands on a dishtowel as he peered over the couch. </p><p>“Asleep,” Feliciano nodded as he tiptoed out of the living room. Joining Ludwig in the kitchen, he kept sending periodic glances over his shoulder for… what, he wasn’t sure. Gilbert waking up, talking in his sleep, getting up and walking straight out the door, anything. Gilbert was a strange man, sure, but Feliciano had so rarely seen him like <em>that</em>. Bracing his hands on the counter, Feliciano hopped up and sat on the edge, only grinning at Ludwig’s disapproving glance. He swiped the towel out of his hands, giving him a playful swat with it, before making himself useful and drying off the dishes as they were handed to him. </p><p>“So,” Ludwig said as he passed Feliciano a bowl, “you were saying earlier about him being alright?” </p><p>Wiping around the rim of the bowl, Feliciano cast another glance over into the living room, where he could just barely see the silver tufts of Gilbert’s hair on the arm rest. “I see what you mean now,” Feli conceded with a soft frown. “I mean… he’s…”</p><p>“Gilbert,” Ludwig finished. Taking the pan off the stove, he dunked it into the soapy water and began trying to scrub away the burnt crepe batter. The water quickly turned a dark, murky grey. </p><p>Feliciano nodded. “Yes, but it’s like you said. I’ve never seen him like that before. I know he has trouble sleeping sometimes, but even this…” Feli trailed off for a moment, putting his hand over Ludwig’s forearm when it looked like he was about two seconds away from scrubbing straight through the metal. Ludwig looked back at him, sighed, and left the pan in the water to soak. Feliciano passed him his towel with a smile. “I’m sure he’s alright, but we can keep an eye on him, okay?” </p><p>Ludwig wiped his hands dry on the towel, eyes inevitably straying toward his brother, passed out on the couch. “Yes, alright.” </p><p>“Good,” Feliciano beamed. He reached out, draping his arms around Ludwig’s broad shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss. Ludwig dropped the towel onto the counter, stepping easily into the embrace, his hands resting comfortably on Feliciano’s hips. When Feli pulled away, he couldn’t help but melt at the slightly dazed look in Ludwig’s eyes, as if he needed an extra moment to come back to himself. Feliciano indulged himself in one more peck on the cheek before nuding Ludwig back and hopping off the counter. “Now, you can help me salvage this breakfast before your brother wakes up.”</p><p> </p><p>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. </p><p> </p><p>Gilbert couldn’t tell if he’d been out for an hour or three days by the time he stirred, his tongue feeling dry and his head stuffed full of cotton. It took a minute for his body to catch up with his disoriented head, that heavy lethargic feeling buzzing over his skin and leaving him drained and confused. Gilbert groaned, rolling over and nearly toppling over the edge of the couch. He likely would have, had it not been for the knitted blanket that had been tucked around him. There was a pillow underneath his head, a bit damp from a line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. He groaned, wiping his face on his sleeve as he squirmed out of the confines of the blanket and sat upright. The light coming in from the window was low, cresting over the rooftops and casting long shadows into the flat - but it was all wrong, all out of place, and Gilbert felt as if the world had been tilted just one degree off its axis. </p><p>Swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, Gilbert scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to regain his bearings. The flat was quiet, eerily so, but after a moment he strained his ears enough to recognize that the white noise permeating the flat was the sound of the shower running in the next room. Gilbert stumbled up to his feet, stretching his back until it gave a loud crack. Dragging himself into the kitchen, he blinked at the clock on the microwave. <em>16:43</em>.  Fuck, he’d been out for most of the day… </p><p>Shaking his hand back through his hair, Gilbert pulled a glass down from the cupboard and turned the faucet on. He’d barely turned it off before he pulled the glass away, water spilling down his fingers and dribling onto his shirt as he gulped it down. He pulled away, sticking his tongue out with a shiver. The lingering taste in his mouth overpowered everything else, and did not make his tongue feel any less dry. Still, he guzzled down two more glasses before his stomach rumbled in protest. Gilbert splashed a bit of water over his face, hoping the stark cold would at least help him wake up a little, before shutting the faucet off. </p><p>God, he felt like he’d been left to rot in a bog for a few centuries and then dumped right back on his brother’s sofa. It took from the time he woke up to scrubbing his face dry again with a towel to remember ever falling asleep. Even the night before, filled with hours of lying in bed too wired to sleep and pacing the guest bedroom before finally giving up and deciding that making breakfast at ass o’clock in the morning, was fragmented and difficult to parse out. Gilbert only tried thinking on it for a few moments, leaning over the kitchen sink, before the image of the stark white face in the window flashed in his mind’s eye and had him physically recoiling. </p><p>It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d gone on a bit of a manic trip from lack of sleep but that was… new. It usually took him a few days to get to that point. Must’ve just been his sleeping pills, he thought. Took them too late and got… fucked up, he didn’t know. </p><p>“Gilbert?” </p><p>Try as he might, there was no masking the way he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his name being called behind him. Gilbert turned around, instantly struggling to put a neutral face on. Feliciano stood in the doorway to the bedroom, his hair damp and slightly curled, dressed in a light blue sweater. A quiet frown pulled at his brows for a moment, but as always, he was quick to banish it with a smile. Still, Gilbert knew that he’d noticed. </p><p>“Hey, Feli,” he plastered on his own grin, leaning casually back against the counter with a slight wave. “Did I miss any wild parties while I was out?” </p><p>“Nothing that exciting,” Feliciano replied with a smile. “It was a quiet afternoon, we didn’t want to disturb you.” When Gilbert cringed, Feli was quick to continue. “Oh, we didn’t mind! Ludwig was reading and I did some sketching. It would have been quiet anyway. I was just about to come wake you, actually. We’re going to go down and walk through the Markets, if you feel up to joining us.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” Gilbert nodded. His voice was falling flat of his usual energy, even he could tell. “I’ll tag along for a bit, but I don’t want to third wheel a date or anything.”</p><p>Feliciano shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. I want you to come. Ludwig’s just finishing up in the shower and then it’s all yours, if you’d like.” Walking into the kitchen, Feliciano opened up the fridge and pulled out a plate covered in plastic wrap. Three crepes lay on the plate, the batter unevenly cooked and ripped in spots, but somehow still delicately folded and filled with powdered sugar and lemon zest. “Here, you worked so hard on them this morning, I didn’t want yours to go to waste. You haven’t eaten all day, you must be hungry.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah,” Gilbert nodded as he took the plate. The smile on his face felt less and less forced as he glanced back up at the Italian. “Thanks.” Gilbert set the plate down, ripping the plastic film off and taking a large bite of the first crepe he grabbed. He didn’t know <em>how</em> he did it, but Feliciano managed to completely save his disastrous attempt. Gilbert had to restrain himself from scarfing down the whole plate in one go. “So, the plan’s to head out in the morning, right?” </p><p>“It is!” Feliciano chirped as he plucked an orange from the fruit drawer and shut the fridge. “There’s no rush, of course, Roderich said so himself. We have plenty of time. Antonio and Lovino are getting there this evening I believe, and Francis said he would be arriving around the same time as us, tomorrow afternoon,” he sat at a stool by the island counter, and began to peel the skin off the orange. The fresh scent of it wafted through the kitchen, tangling with the lemon of the crepes. “I <em>was</em> hoping that Erzse would be coming…”</p><p>“Can’t be helped,” Gilbert shrugged. “I was too, but she’s got her reasons. Maybe we can do one of those,” he gestured with his hand, shaking trails of sugar onto the floor in his wake, “video phone call things on Christmas Eve. Let her see all the fun she’s missing.” </p><p>“Maybe,” Feliciano laughed. He’d just peeled off his first slice of orange when Ludwig came out of the bathroom, freshly dressed and his wet hair combed back. Feliciano spun around in his seat, beaming at Ludwig and holding out the orange slice. </p><p>Ludwig took it with a quick kiss to Feliciano’s temple in passing, before turning to his brother (and, though he didn’t say anything outright, the mess he was making on the floor). “Gilbert,” he greeted, and Gil could feel his eyes scanning over him like he was searching for a third arm, “good to see you’re finally awake.” </p><p>“I’m sure you were <em>so bored</em> without me livening the pace up,” Gilbert grinned back at him with a mouthful of crepe. “But even a guy like me needs beauty rest.” Ludwig’s eyes narrowed, not quite angry but borderline exasperated. Gilbert swallowed the last bite of his crepe, just barely folding it into his mouth in a way he <em>knew</em> would annoy his younger brother, and patted Ludwig on the shoulder before he had the chance to respond. “If the shower’s free, I’m gonna hop in,” he said - though, to be fair, it was hardly audible with his mouth stuffed. </p><p>Leaving Ludwig and Feliciano in the kitchen, Gilbert headed straight into the guest bedroom to pick out fresh clothes, and then continued on to the bathroom. The fan was on, but the air was still thick with steam, clinging to the mirror and distorting the reflection. Sure enough though, every surface was wiped down, a fresh towel sat on the rack for him to use, and Ludwig’s usual shampoo and soap was sitting out for him to use. Everything in its place. </p><p>Gilbert immediately tossed his change of clothes onto the floor, without much of a care where they fell. He reached into the shower to turn the water on, the white noise rush once again filling the room. Alone again, without the chance of Feli or Ludwig walking in on him, Gilbert allowed himself a moment to brace his hands on either side of the sink and just - breathe. </p><p>The feeling had never left him. Never lessened. A bone deep heaviness dragging him toward the core of the earth, with hardly enough strength to keep his head up, as if he were one slip away from six feet under. His head was still pounding, aching straight into the grey matter of his brain. He felt awful. Anxious. Gilbert groaned, rubbing his palm over his eyes, willing it all to <em>stop</em>. </p><p>He lifted his head toward the mirror. With a shiver down his spine, he found himself searching the blurred image of himself for another face, a phantom in the reflection behind him - but it was just him. Just him, alone in the bathroom, with the steam of the shower steadily collecting on the glass. Gilbert sighed and pushed away from the sink, reaching behind his head to pull off the shirt he’d been wearing. He let it drop to the floor. </p><p>Gilbert wouldn’t have noticed had he not looked back at the mirror. He’d already been toeing his socks off, preparing to take off his pants and get into the shower in the hopes that the scalding water would make him feel a little more human (so to speak). He wouldn’t have noticed the grey mark on his shoulder otherwise. The mark had become a mundane part of him in the past year, as easily past over as a freckle or a scar. </p><p>But the mark had grown. </p><p>He thought that he might be imagining it at first. Gilbert squinted into the foggy mirror a moment before reaching out and swiping his hand over the surface. Through the wayward streaks, Gilbert stared down at his chest. The mark, for the past year, hadn’t changed, still sitting on his skin no larger than a 5 cent coin. Gilbert reached up, fingers brushing over the discoloured patch of skin. It was such a miniscule change, but just noticeable enough to make his skin crawl. Thin tendrils snaked out from the centre, stretching out toward his arm, his chest, grazing his collar bone. In all, it had only grown a centimetre or two - but it grew. </p><p>It <em>grew</em>. Gilbert hadn’t known it could… do that. The implications weren’t something he wanted to dwell on for long. The steam was clinging to the mirror again, and within moments, the reflection was so fogged he could no longer see it. Gilbert did not look down. Turning away from the mirror, he shed his trousers and stepped into the shower. </p><p>The hot water did, at the very least, help him feel a little more human. Technically he came out looking more like a lobster, but hell, he’d take it. With time to wake up and ease the tension out of his body, he came out of the shower, dried off, and dressed, gradually feeling more and more like himself. He avoided looking back down at his chest all the while, barely wanted to touched it as he’d washed himself off or tugged his sweater on. It wasn’t like he believed it would go away if he ignored it long enough… he just couldn’t think about it. Didn’t want to. </p><p>By the time he walked out into the living room again, the sun had long since sunk down behind the rooftops and the sky was stained violet and grey, snow falling thick over Munich. </p><p> </p><p>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t yet night when they stepped out the front door to Ludwig’s apartment building and onto the bustling streets of Munich. There was still some faint light left in the sky, a watercolour wash of indigo and lilac, vibrant against the silver and gold lights of the city. Ludwig’s home wasn’t far from the Marienplatz, still well within the old city. The trees lining either side of the lane were strung up with lights, and although the market did not quite spill over this far, pine and juniper garland tied up with ribbon decorated the quiet street. Not far from there, the music and hum of the markets played on, muted by the buildings between them. </p><p>Gilbert adjusted his scarf, shoving it carelessly underneath the collar of his coat. He’d just straightened himself out against the cold when Ludwig finished locking the door behind him. Feliciano was practically bouncing on his feet waiting to go, and the moment Ludwig slipped the key into his pocket and pulled his gloves on, he was wrapping his arms around his bicep and pulling him down the pavement. </p><p>“Feli, slow down,” Gilbert laughed as he watched the Italian practically hang off his brother’s arm. “The market’s aren’t goin’ anywhere. We’ll see plenty in Austria, too.” </p><p>“I know,” Feliciano beamed back at Gilbert, “but I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon! It feels so different this year.”</p><p>Ludwig nodded along, keeping a moderate pace in spite of Feliciano’s tugging. “It does,” he commented. “I have to admit, I was so nervous about you coming last year that I hardly enjoyed the Munich markets myself.” </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Feliciano replied with a sly look up at Ludwig. He bumped him lightly, still holding onto him, chin resting on his shoulder for a moment. “I recall that you ended up enjoying yourself quite a bit.”</p><p>Ludwig’s face flushed a deep red. “Feli!” he protested, only stopping to glare at Gilbert as he folded over cackling. They had to stop a moment for him to catch up. If Ludwig looked anymore embarrassed and unimpressed, he might pop a blood vessel, Gilbert thought in passing. Feliciano had the good sense at least to muffle his laughter in his scarf. When Ludwig looked down at him again, his humour appeared to catch up with him, a telltale upturn at the corner of his mouth as he nudged Feliciano with the arm he was holding in reprimand. </p><p>It wasn’t long before they made it to the Marienplatz, the rows upon rows of wooden stalls all centered around the impressive Christmas tree in the centre. The Neues Rathaus’ spires loomed high over the square, lit up by the millions of soft lights below. Live music drifted down through the streets, different tunes from the dozens of smaller markets spilling across the old city. The crowds were thick, moving in great waves through the little avenues, talking and laughing and shouting to each other. In every direction, different scents wafted through the square, from candied almonds to mulled wine, and frosted pine to currywurst. </p><p>It was impossible to be in a bad mood in this atmosphere. It was impossible to be anything but excited, and even in spite of the tumultuous thoughts roaring through Gilbert’s head all morning and afternoon, he was no exception. The tension, grinding against his skull like a stone mill, finally began to ease. Gilbert turned his head up toward the sky as he walked, watching the snow drift down from the vast grey sky. </p><p>It wasn’t really a matter of deciding where to go, once you got into the stream. The markets of Munich and other larger cities across Europe were massive tourist attractions, often taking up multiple blocks of the city. Once you stepped into the crowd, they easily guided you into the centre of the excitement. Gilbert, Ludwig, and Feliciano quickly found themselves swept up into the flow of traffic. Even if they hadn’t, Feliciano’s enthusiasm would have pulled them along. They drifted from stall to stall, pausing in gathering crowds to listen to the musicians, the choir in the lower balcony of the Neues Rathaus, snacking on a paper bag of roasted chestnuts.</p><p>Gilbert was, at that point, entertaining himself by tossing the chestnuts in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth while the next musicians set up. It was finally a perfect night, the dark settling in comfortably over Munich, and the Market glowing that much brighter. Missing just by an inch, the chestnut Gilbert had been trying to catch bounced off his nose. He just barely managed to catch it before it hit the ground. Standing upright again, Gilbert grinned at Ludwig’s pointed disapproval as he popped it into his mouth. </p><p>“Can you just behave for one night?” Ludwig raised a brow, though there was no real frustration in his voice. Resigned annoyance, maybe, but not frustration. </p><p>Gilbert, still chewing on the chestnut, merely shrugged and shook the bag in his face. “Hey, it’s either behave now, or get it out of my system before we meet up with Francis and Antonio. Pick your poison.”</p><p>Ludwig’s mouth pulled in a bare hint of a smile. “You won’t behave when they’re around regardless.”</p><p>“But think about how much <em>worse </em>I could be,” Gilbert retorted. “I’m doing you all a favour, honestly. Besides, I have to practice now while I have the chance. If either of them upstage me, it’ll be chaos.” Gilbert pushed the bag into Ludwig’s hands and backed up a few paces. “Now, toss’em at me.”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Don’t be such a tightass.”</p><p>“I’m not-”</p><p>“Toss’em!”</p><p>Ludwig rolled his eyes (a win in any brother’s book, Gilbert was thrilled to find). In any case, Ludwig did not get the chance to reply. Laughing at the petty argument, Feliciano took the bag from Ludwig and reached inside. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Ready?”</p><p>Gilbert smirked. “I’m always rea- oh shit.” Before he could actually prepare himself (instead of being a dick about it as he was wont to do), Feliciano tossed a chestnut up in a wide arc, sailing toward Gilbert’s head. Try as he might to position himself, Gilbert couldn’t quite make it in time. The forsaken chestnut rolled into the snow, soon lost under the snowboots of the passing crowd. Gilbert stared at it as it vanished, before looking back to Feliciano with a mock-glare. “Re-do.” </p><p>“You said you were ready!” Feliciano laughed. </p><p>“Not like - <em>that </em>ready!”</p><p>“Fine!” Feliciano beamed. “Try now,” he said in a teasing tone, making several, drawn out preparation movements to throw. “I’m going to throw it <em>now…</em> in three seconds... so be absolutely sure that you’re-”</p><p>Gilbert made a face, swooping down to grab a handful of snow off the ground and toss it at Feliciano (two for one, catching Ludwig in the attack too). Feliciano laughed and tried to shield himself to no avail. “Okay, okay!” Feli surrendered. “Here!” Cutting the theatrics, he tossed the chestnut to Gilbert one more time. </p><p>With enough time to prepare himself, Gilbert confidently watched the chestnut soar toward him, shifting his weight to try to keep under it. Finally when he began to fall from its arch, he opened his mouth, jumping backwards just in time to catch it in his mouth. Feliciano was already cheering for him as he tumbled, slipping on the icey cobblestone and falling into the snow. He hit the ground with a grunt, still laughing as he threw his hands up in victory, biting into his prized chestnut. Satisfied that he’d made himself a fool just enough for one night, Gilbert rolled over onto his hands to push himself up. </p><p>Standing in the middle of the stream of market-goers was a man in a dark coat, staring directly at Gilbert as if nothing else of importance existed. Gilbert stopped short, still lying on his side, propped up on his hands as he watched the man, pinned in place by the intensity of his gaze. He was a man in his late 30’s, from Gilbert’s brief impression, with dusty brown hair and unkempt stubble. At first, Gilbert thought he might have just pissed off a local with his ‘juvenile’ antics, but the harsh line of his brow suggested something more, something he couldn’t quite place. </p><p>A family walked in front of the man, a child sitting high up on her father’s shoulders, and just like that, he vanished. Gilbert pushed himself up, dusting the snow off his trousers and coat as he searched the crowd for any sign of the man. </p><p>“Gilbert?” Feliciano called out to him. “Are you alright?” </p><p>“Hm?” Gilbert turned back to him and Ludwig, drawn out of his distracted confusion. He plastered a smile onto his face, shoving his hands into his pockets as he strolled back toward them. “Oh yeah, I’m golden. Listen,” he cast a glance over his shoulder, smile dropping when the other two could not see, “I think I’m gonna split off for a bit, let you two enjoy yourselves without me tagging along.” </p><p>Ludwig frowned. “Gilbert, you know you don’t have to-”</p><p>Gilbert cut him off, waving off his attempted placitude. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” Without waiting for an answer, he began walking toward the moving crowd, hand shoved back into his coat pocket. </p><p>Still, Ludwig called out to him again. “You’re sure?” </p><p>When Gilbert turned, walking backwards as he did to put more distance between them, he caught the befuddled look on his younger brother’s face. “Yeah. I want to go find the worst bottle of alcohol possible to give to Roderich. Cheap bastard’ll drink anything you give him no matter how much he hates it. We can meet up again in an hour for something to eat!” Then, without waiting for Ludwig’s answer, Gilbert turned around again and shouldered his way through the crowd. </p><p>He didn’t look back to see Ludwig’s reaction, or Feliciano’s. Over the din of noise, he could just barely hear Feliciano’s reassuring voice speaking to Ludwig, some soft comfort, before pitching in excitement about marzipan. Both their voices disappeared into the throng not long after. Try as he did to mask it, he knew his behavior was off, and they’d picked up on it. Off even for <em>him</em>, which even he could admit was saying something. It was why he’d bailed out so quickly, leaving less time for interrogation. He would meet up with them again in a bit. Everything would be fine by then. He just needed to put this paranoia to rest first. </p><p>Upon pushing through the other side of the steady flow of visitors, Gilbert found himself staring down yet another row of wooden stalls, all dusted with snow and twinkling with lights and picturesque enough to make a hallmark card. Gilbert stared down the nearest lane, strolling down the stalls, gaze casually sweeping every passing human he could catch. He didn’t even know exactly what he was <em>looking </em>for, or who. The man’s appearance had been so brief, he could hardly tell if he really was making the whole thing up, this monomania making details when there were none to begin with - but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there had been something peculiar about the stranger in the crowd. </p><p>As if there weren’t a million other strangers in this city right now. Fuck, this was insane. Gilbert paused by a stall selling wooden miniatures, everything from pots the size of his thumb, to angels, to hundreds of little baby jesus’ dumped into a glass bin. He dropped his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, berated himself for getting so worked up over <em>nothing</em>. This was what little to no sleep the night before and a fucked up schedule got him. He made a mental note to take two of his sleeping pills that night, as if that would solve anything. If he slept late, Ludwig and Feliciano could carry him to the fucking train station. </p><p>Well, since he was out on his own anyway, he may as well make good on his plan. Doing his best to push all thoughts of strangers and phantom faces from his mind, Gilbert bought himself a hot toddy at a nearby stall, and continued on his way. Wandering aimlessly through the streets of Munich, he eventually found himself in the Medieval themed market further away from the core of the main festival. Employees in the stalls dressed up in medieval peasant garb (woefully wrong but Gilbert always got a kick out of seeing what each new century conjured up when it came to ideas of the past). More than a few stalls roasted whole pigs on spits. And, most importantly, the place was overflowing with booze.</p><p>Gilbert ended up at a stall selling a “traditional homebrew” version of Jagermeister. The tourists were going absolutely berserk over it, but one sample sip had Gilbert nearly gagging. He, of course, bought the biggest bottle he could, and had it wrapped with the fanciest fucking bow they had. Roderich was going to kill him. He couldn’t wait. The bitter thought crossed his mind that Erzsebet would have smacked him on the arm for the “gift” but found just as much amusement in watching Roderich try to choke it down without complaint for the sake of his prudence and pride - but it passed just as quickly. She wouldn’t be there, and frankly, it was her loss. It was what it was. </p><p>Eventually, he made his way through the medieval market and down the narrow lanes of the city, lit up by the arches of twinkling lights stretching between buildings. The markets were confined to city squares and open spaces, but the festivities seemed to take up the whole of Munich. No matter which direction he turned, there was some scent tempting him down another street, music drifting between ancient buildings, and holiday decorations covering every inch of the city. Even he couldn’t help but be charmed. It was getting late, though. Gilbert reached into his pocket with the intention to text Ludwig about where they wanted to meet, heart set on a beer in a warm hall somewhere before dragging his tired ass back to the flat to pass out for the night.</p><p>His fingertips had barely brushed the edge of the mobile in his pocket before his attention was drawn toward a figure standing farther down the street. Gilbert looked up. There, standing at the edge of a narrow alley, was a figure in a dark coat, staring back at him in the backlit glow of the christmas lights. It was quieter at that end of the city. An iron gate creaked in the wind at the end of the shadowy alley, branches of cedar coming loose from their white decorative ribbons. Gilbert came to a slow stop, as the man stared straight at him. The rest of the street was completely empty - an odd thing in itself, Gilbert realised with a shiver. The happy buzz of civilians continued on at either end of the street, all bathed in warm light and mirth, but here in this desolate street, time seemed to stand still. No one broke the invisible barrier, passing by as if they could not see the dark lane at all. </p><p>A cutting wind rushed through the street, stirring up freshly fallen snow. The iron gate blew back, slamming against the brick wall behind it with an ear splitting screech. The man did not so much as flinch at the sound, even as Gilbert cringed and tried to hold his hands up to his ears in time. The metallic shriek sent a shiver down his spine, his hair standing on end, still echoing in his ears in the stark silence it left in its wake. </p><p>Stepping into a thin beam of moonlight, the man stared back at Gilbert for one more fleeting moment, before turning sharply on his heel and disappearing into the dark alley. However, that one moment was all it took. </p><p>Otto Dürer, the former Kingdom of Bavaria, disappeared into the shadows. </p><p>Gilbert’s stomach plummeted. “Otto!” he shouted, hardly pausing to think before he was sprinting across the street. He grabbed hold of the cold iron gate just before it swung shut again, throwing it open with the same rusted screech. Gilbert couldn’t hope to process the evidence of his own eyes much beyond the fact that he’d seen him, a man who had been dead for over a hundred years. Dashing down the alley, Gilbert nearly tripped over a wooden crate, scrambling to catch himself as he knocked it over, and kept running. </p><p>He came out in a small courtyard, nestled between tall buildings lined with blackened windows. The glow of Munich could not reach this forgotten corner. Breath fogging from his lips in laboured pants, Gilbert searched for another alley, some exit that Otto could have slipped through to disappear - but there were none. Only one entrance and exit, and yet Otto was nowhere to be seen. </p><p>Gilbert nearly convinced himself he’d seen nothing. He was going mad, it was a slip, no more real that Ernst’s haunted face in the window. With a slow exhale, Gilbert frowned, and turned back toward the alley. </p><p>Otto stood behind him. </p><p>Gilbert could barely gasp and stagger back before Otto was reaching out, gripping onto his left shoulder, and squeezing so tight it knocked the breath out of him. With a wild yelp, Gilbert dropped the paper bag and bottle he’d been carrying, hands coming up onto latch onto Otto’s wrists. The bottle shattered on the stone. He could feel him, solid as the ground beneath his feet, and yet there was something about the touch that made his gut twitch. It was too <em>cold</em>, so icy it made his skin beneath his coat burn on contact. </p><p>Otto shoved him back, and Gilbert could not regain his balance quick enough, before he’d slipped on a patch of ice and slipped against the courtyard wall. Gilbert crashed onto the ground, sliding across the ice. He struggled to right himself, opened his eyes to search out Otto, but it was a fight he was losing. Gilbert couldn’t make heads or tails of his own body, couldn’t find his legs, and as his eyes snapped open he was met with an impenetrable darkness. He gasped, trying to breathe, lungs filling with fire and smoke while his skin froze. </p><p>Gilbert finally scrambled to his feet as flashes broke through the thick nothingness. He was standing in a room, but he could not see it. The room existed in his peripheries, glimpses of imposing columns arranged in a circle, a domed ceiling, staggered rows of curved benches rising up above the marble floor where he stood. Torches on the walls, curtains drawn over the few windows there were, blocking out the light in its totality. And, standing around him, a dozen figures all glaring down at him. Gilbert turned in wide circles, trying to orient himself. He’s barely caught his breath before the burning in his shoulder became so severe that he doubled over, gripping at his skin and gritting his teeth. </p><p>Gilbert crashed to his knees. The scent of fire and heavy smoke vanished, taking with it the heat and the pain. The night was cold and still once again. When Gilbert opened his eyes again, he found himself in the courtyard again. A group of carolers were singing in the street as they passed by the alley, crowds once again filing through on their midnight journeys between the Christmas Markets. Gilbert sat there, feeling the cool air fill his lungs with each calculated breath, as their voices drifted past him. At the entrance to the alley, the bottle lay in emerald shards spilling out the ripped paper back. The sickly scent of alcohol filled the courtyard. </p><p>With a groan, Gilbert shifted onto his backside, leaning against the nearest wall. He tilted his head back, feeling his hair catch on the brick. His shoulder was still aching. </p><p>At this point, he knew, though not which was the truth; there was either something wrong, or there was something <em>wrong</em> with him. </p><p>Those few brief moments of respite were all he had to absorb that. The sharp buzz and ringing in his pocket had Gilbert nearly jumping out of his skin, scrambling to grab his phone. Feliciano’s name flashed across the screen. He answered the call. “Feli?” </p><p>“Gilbert!” Feliciano’s frantic tone sent Gilbert’s heart racing, the fear and desperation enough to set his teeth on edge. Gilbert immediately sat upright off the wall. “Gilbert, it’s Ludwig, something’s wrong!”</p><p>Gilbert shot up to his feet too quickly, his head going light and hazy. He braced his hand against the wall until the vertigo faded. “What? What happened?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Feliciano sobbed. “We were walking and he just - he suddenly pushed himself in front of me, and it was like something attacked, I didn’t see-” </p><p>“Okay, okay, calm down,” Gilbert urged the Italian. He pushed off the wall, stumbling his way toward the alley. “Where are you guys?”</p><p>There was a pause, and the sound of the phone brushing against Feliciano’s coat. “We’re in the middle of the Rindermarkt,” he replied. “By the stone wall. I can see the top of St. Peter’s church from here.”</p><p>“Alright, stay where you are,” Gilbert ordered. “I’m not far from there. Is Ludwig alright?” </p><p>“He hit his head pretty badly,” Feliciano sniffed. “He’s bleeding, and he’s not - oh, Ludwig!” he broke off into another sob, the phone rustling against his coat again. Gilbert could just barely hear the exchange from his end. </p><p>Ludwig groaned. “Feli…” </p><p>“Don’t move, amore,” Feliciano hushed him, “it’s alright.” There was, again, more movement of fabric before Feliciano’s voice became clear again. “He’s just starting to come around. Just hurry, before someone tries calling a medic.”  </p><p>“Alright,” Gilbert said. “I’m on my way.” </p><p>There was too much to take in - and so, Gilbert didn’t. He did not have the time to hypothesis, to wear himself down trying to rationalise what was happening. He compartmentalized. The focus right now was solely on his brother, on getting him to safety. Then, and only then, could he worry about losing his mind. Gilbert ran through the streets, dashing around groups of market-goers and narrowly dodging any obstacle in his way - lampposts, trash bins, Christmas displays, and a few children to boot. The glitter of the old city passed by in a haze. A nearby choir continued to sing carols, blissfully unaware as their voices echoed down the streets in a haunting refrain. </p><p>It was only several minutes before Gilbert rounded the corner and ran into sight of the Rindermarkt. He paused for breath, heaving in his tired lungs, as his eyes swept the crowds. He looked up, turning until he spotted the spires of St. Peter’s church. They would be in the opposite direction then, somewhere in the path of both the market and the church. Gilbert started off in that direction, skirting the edge of the market, and its red tiered tower, until he spotted the wall Feliciano had mentioned. </p><p>“Feli!” Gilbert called into the crowd. “Ludwig!” </p><p>“Over here!” Feliciano’s voice replied over the din of the crowd. </p><p>Gilbert followed his voice, turning a corner between stalls until he finally spotted them. They were in a secluded part of the market, behind the walls of the wooden stalls, where the lights on the other side were casting long shadows in the gaps between them. Feliciano was kneeling on the ground in front of Ludwig, who sat leaning back against the low retainer wall of the parket. </p><p>Feliciano was pushing the hair out of Ludwig’s face, falling unkempt from its usually neat style, and dabbing the edge of his scar against the blood dripping down his forehead. Gilbert dropped down beside him, hand shooting out to steady his brother’s shoulder. “Ludwig? You with me here?” </p><p>Ludwig, seemingly more lucid now than when Feliciano had first called for help, nodded. “Yes, I’m fine,” he grunted. </p><p>“Well, you look like shit,” Gilbert retorted. Ludwig didn’t even glare at him or sigh in ever-suffering exasperation, which was enough to set alarm bells off even if he wasn’t bleeding and disoriented. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” </p><p>Ludwig wasn’t in any state to walk on his own, and there was no chance Feliciano would have been able to support his weight entirely by himself. Pulling Ludwig’s arm over his shoulder, Gilbert shifted forward and lifted his weight from his knees. With Feliciano taking Ludwig’s other arm, they were able to help him get his feet underneath him. Keeping hold on Ludwig’s arm over his shoulder, Gilbert wrapped his arm around his back, and guided him out. They caught the concerned and occasionally disgusted gazes of dozens of people. Gilbert, for his part, rolled with it easy, flashing a smile and shouting a “Big guy had too much to drink!” as they hurried out of sight. </p><p>They stuck to the less populated streets back to Ludwig’s flat, trying to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. They weren’t far by any means, but Ludwig was no easy man to carry, and although he managed to keep his feet moving along with him and slowly began to walk with more strength, Gilbert was straining under the weight by the time they finally made it back. Feliciano dug into his pocket, taking out his copy of the key, and opening the street door. It took both Gilbert and Feliciano to get Ludwig up the stairs. </p><p>Once they were at last inside the flat, the lights still off and the windows allowing in dim throws of white gold from the city, Gilbert deposited Ludwig in the nearest kitchen chair. He pulled his coat off, tossing it over the back of the couch. “Lud, finger test time,” Gilbert said as he shifted in front of him, hand once again steadied on his shoulder. He held up two fingers, and repeatedly put the middle down and back up again. “How many?”</p><p>It took Ludwig a moment to answer, much longer than Gilbert liked, but it seemed to be out of discomfort rather than disorientation. “Two,” he replied, “if you’d stop trying to cheat.” </p><p>Gilbert grinned. “And how many of me?”</p><p>“Just the one. Fortunately.” </p><p>“Too bad you didn’t knock yourself into a better sense of humour,” Gilbert patted Ludwig’s shoulder. </p><p>Behind him, Feliciano was running a washcloth under the faucet. As he brought it over, Gilbert moved out of the way to allow Feliciano room to stand in front of Ludwig. He gently began to wipe the blood from where it trickled down his face. </p><p>“Feliciano, are you alright?” Ludwig murmured, watching the Italian’s face intently.</p><p>Feliciano tried to smile, but his eyes watered, and his voice cracked as he tried to answer evenly. “I’m alright, don’t worry about me,” he replied. He touched the cloth a little higher toward Ludwig’s hairline, only drawing back when the blond flinched. </p><p>Gilbert scowled, moving behind Ludwig and parting his hair so he could find the wound. There was already a sizable bruise forming on Ludwig’s forehead, toward his left temple. “What happened?” Gilbert asked, the teasing tone vanished from his voice and replaced with stern command. </p><p>Once again, it took Ludwig too long to answer. Gilbert looked to Feliciano, his chest tightening to find a similar look of confusion and fear on his face at the question. His hands paused in Ludwig’s hair. The fluorescent kitchen light in an otherwise dark apartment felt too much like the light of an operating theatre, as Gilbert was about to pick his brain. Finally, Ludwig sighed heavily and spoke. </p><p>“We were taking a break at the Rindermarket, in that secluded little spot,” he began. “We’d just finished our drinks, and… I thought I saw someone,” Ludwig shook his head, instantly regretting it with a tight hiss.</p><p>Gilbert froze. “You thought you saw <em>who</em>?” </p><p>“It was nothing, I-”</p><p>“Ludwig,” he snapped. “Who did you see?” </p><p>Ludwig pursed his lips, searching Feliciano’s eyes for a moment before responding. “I thought I saw Konrad,” he admitted. “Everything that happened last year must have been on my mind, I’m not sure.”</p><p>Exhaling slowly, Gilbert tried not to let the bone chilling dread seeping in show on his face. He focused on finding the cut, finally parting Ludwig’s hair on the laceration  across his scalp. He held his hand out for the cloth, as Feliciano finished wiping Ludwig’s face. “Alright. Then what?” </p><p>“Then…” Ludwig frowned, “I suppose I… reacted.”</p><p>“You seemed terrified all of the sudden,” Feliciano offered, brushing his thumb over Ludwig’s cheek. “You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” </p><p>“I never had much of a chance,” Ludwig confessed, grunting as Gilbert dabbed at the cut. “Something just hit me. I didn’t see it coming. It was something fast, and black... “ Ludwig huffed with growing impatience. “This is ridiculous.”</p><p>“No,” Feliciano cut in before Ludwig could try to dismiss it. Both Ludwig and Gilbert looked to him with mirrored interest. “I… I saw it too,” he murmured. “Not… <em>him</em>, but I saw it happen.”</p><p>Gilbert shook his head, finishing his quick clean of the wound and walking over to the sink. He wrung it out, hanging it on the side to be tossed in with the laundry later on. “I thought you said you didn’t see anything, Feli.”</p><p>Feliciano nodded hesitantly. “I saw nothing,” he corrected. “But… that’s exactly what it looked like. Nothing. Just this… black shadow appearing out of nowhere, and suddenly Ludwig was falling back against the wall. I-I tried to catch you, but you were too heavy-”</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault,” Ludwig silenced him gently. </p><p>Gilbert watched the quiet exchange from the other side of the kitchen, Ludwig lifting a hand to Feliciano’s face and kissing him softly. Crossing over to the fridge, he pulled the freezer door open, and rooted around until he found a bag of frozen vegetables. Gilbert tossed the bag to Ludwig, keeping a close eye as his brother tried and failed to catch the easy throw - delayed reflexes. He’d probably knocked his head pretty good, but aside from a nasty head ache he would be fine by morning. Feliciano picked the bag up for Ludwig and handed it over. Holding the frozen veggies to his head, Ludwig winced but muscled through until the area began to numb. A heavy silence settled over the flat. </p><p>“Gilbert…” Ludwig began slowly. “What do you think-”</p><p>“I think it’s been a long night,” Gilbert cut him off. “And getting worked up over nothing won’t help anything. Get some sleep, alright? We’ve still got to make the train tomorrow, and I, for one, am planning on sleeping in.” Shutting the freezer door, Gilbert rounded the kitchen island. “Feli, you’ll keep an eye on him through the night?” </p><p>“I’m <em>fine</em>,” Ludwig insisted, rising to his feet. To his credit, he didn’t sway - much. Still, Gilbert and Feliciano were both there, ready to catch him should to fall. </p><p>Gilbert eyed him suspiciously, standing before him with a challenging look that Ludwig met head on. Feliciano, thankfully, stepped in before the brothers could start arguing. He hooked his arm through Ludwig’s, giving Gilbert a dim smile. “I’ll take care of him, Gilbert.”</p><p>Even Ludwig could not argue that, not when Feliciano was so placatingly nudging him off toward the bedroom. Gilbert stayed behind, pretending to keep busy, tucking the chair back into place and grabbing the bloodied rag from the sink, but otherwise did not move from the kitchen until he heard the door shut behind him. Gilbert closed his eyes. He could feel his hands shaking, palm beginning to sweat even as he began to count his breaths. Every image of what he’d seen in the courtyard was banished from his mind with an intensity that only brought the memories back stronger. </p><p>He filled a glass with water. Chugged it down, filled another glass, and drank it again. Gilbert stood over the sink, just as he had that morning, as if he’d never moved. It was a nightmare. A little nightmare that he was not willing to bring Ludwig into any more than he needed to. Fuck, he was too exhausted to even hope to make sense of any of it. Filling the glass one more time, Gilbert carried it into the guest bedroom and set it on the dresser. A plastic prescription bottle sat upturned on the nightstand. Gilbert opened the gap, popped two pills into his palm, and chased them both down at once. If that didn’t get him to sleep, it would at least put him into a coma, and honestly that didn’t sound too bad right now. </p><p>As he stripped down to change into sweats and a t-shirt, he looked down at his left shoulder, and saw that the grey mark had grown. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>When even Ludwig slept in that morning, it was decided unanimously that they would take the afternoon train. The previous night’s horrors had all three of them in a dire need to take things slowly that day, a wordless and lingering fear that none of them wanted to voice. There was no rationalizing what had happened. There was no answer. Gilbert didn’t mention what he had seen in that alley, and had absolutely no intentions of doing so. </p><p>In any case, Ludwig woke up that morning with a killer headache, and Gilbert’s pills had him sleeping until almost noon. It was probably the first time ever that Feliciano had woken up before the two of them (likely the last time, too). He made breakfast and coffee, and pushed ibuprofen that probably wouldn’t work at Ludwig until he gave in and took it. The pout always got him, a fact that Gilbert pointed out over the rim of his coffee mug as he watched that exchange from across the kitchen. </p><p>Within the next two hours, they were packing up and heading down into the train station. The city looked almost unrecognizable in the daylight, the snow almost blindingly bright where it was still falling fresh on the pavement, but turning grey at the edges of the street. They hailed a cab to the train station to save the added headache, metaphorical and literal, of walking there with their bags. Gilbert sat in the passenger seat, letting Ludwig and Feli take the back. He texted Roderich just as they made it to the station. </p><p><em>Late start. We’re just pulling up to the Train Station now. ETA’s about two and a half hours. </em>GB</p><p>Roderich responded almost immediately. <em>Late? And has Ludwig burst a blood vessel over it yet? </em>RE</p><p><em>Hey, he’s at least partly culpable here. </em>GB</p><p>The cab rolled to a stop at the edge of the street. Just as Ludwig leaned forward to pay the driver, Gilbert smacked his hand away with a grin and pushed his own cash into the driver’s hands. The driver, at least had a sense of humour about it, and thanked him before unlocking the doors and helping them get their bags from the boot of the car. In short order, they were inside, their tickets scanned, and walking out onto the platform. Even the station was decked out in holiday decorations, lined with perfect cone shaped trees, dangling lights, and massive paper stars hanging down from the glass ceiling. </p><p>They had a compartment to themselves at the front of the train. Nothing extravagant, but certainly comfortable, and most importantly private. Gilbert did not check his phone again until he’d put his bag up on the rack above their hands, and dropped down onto his seat with a sight. Perk of travelling with his brother and his brother’s partner - he was always guaranteed a seat to himself. Gilbert wasted no time in shedding his coat, stuffing it behind him against the wall, and kicking his feet up across the bench. </p><p><em>Really? Everything alright? </em>RE</p><p>Roderich had every right to be concerned at the insinuation that Ludwig was partly at fault for being late to <em>anything</em>, but Gilbert had absolutely no desire to get into the details just yet. </p><p><em>Yeah, </em>he texted back, <em>long story, I’ll catch you up when we get there. </em>GB</p><p><em>You had better. You’ve left me to deal with Lovino and Antonio myself. Absolutely unforgivable. </em>RE</p><p><em>You’ll survive.</em> GB</p><p><em>I promise I won’t. </em>RE</p><p><em>Just think. Francis will get there before we do. They’ll entertain each other for a bit. </em>GB</p><p><em>And when you get here? </em>RE</p><p><em>&gt;:)</em> GB</p><p>Satisfied that he’d fulfilled his “Being A Dick” quota at least for the next hour, Gilbert slipped his phone back into his pocket and stretched across his seat. Feliciano and Ludwig were just settling into the compartment, Ludwig nearly folding his scarf and hanging his coat on the provided hooks, while Feliciano stood at the sliding door and chatted with the hostess. He returned to the seat with a handful of biscotti in plastic packaging and a few bottles of water. Gilbert took his with a nod of thanks, attention inevitably drifting back to his brother. </p><p>The cut on his scalp had healed and scabbed overnight, but with that also came the accelerated healing of the impact bruise, already gone black and blue as it spread down from his temple. Gilbert saw too late that Ludwig had caught him staring. Still, he did not bother to try to hide it, opting instead to shrug. “You look like you got into a fight with a lamppost.”</p><p>Ludwig scowled at him. “Thank you for letting me know, Gilbert.” </p><p>Gil flicked the cap of his water bottle at his brother. In true, mature fashion, Ludwig retaliated by throwing it back at him. Swinging his leg down off the bench, Gilbert kicked Ludwig’s foot, and called victory for himself with a grin as Ludwig nudged him back and then promptly ignored him. Even Feliciano had a hard time not laughing at the exchange, and Gilbert grinned at him with a wink when he caught his eye. </p><p>Before long, the train was pulling out of the station, rolling southeast through Munich until the city was a blip on the tracks behind them. Ludwig spent most of the time working on his laptop, unable to take a break from work until he was officially on holiday the moment they arrived in Ausitra - even then, he’d probably sneak off to answer emails and calls. After all these years, with all he’d instilled in his brother, Gilbert had still never managed to teach him how to relax. Gilbert watched him now and again from over the edge of his phone as he scrolled aimlessly, catching Ludwig squint, blink, and finally peel his eyes away from the screen, no doubt when the headache returned with a vengeance. </p><p>So sue him, if when he deemed Ludwig sufficiently distracted by whatever document he was reading, Gilbert faked a stretch and subtly reached down with his foot and nudged the charger to Ludwig’s laptop out of the socket. Feliciano took this opportunity for an afternoon cat nap, perfectly content to lay back against Ludwig’s side, legs curled up onto the seat as he snoozed. </p><p>Within an hour, the cabin was almost entirely silent, the three of them sinking into a comfortable quiet as the train rattled along the tracks, passing by white glistening fields and frosted trees. As they continued on south, the Apline Mountains rose up out of the blue distance, snow caped and wild. GIlbert steadily sank into his seat, occasionally taking breaks from endless phone scrolling to look out the window and enjoy the view. It was about that long before Ludwig’s laptop died. The blonde scowled in confusion, checking the plug to his laptop’s charging port, before finally looking for and realising that it had been unplugged.</p><p>Let it be known that Gilbert had one of the best poker faces in Europe - or so he liked to think. Even still, he was all too obvious as he continued to nonchalantly tap away at his phone, pointedly <em>not</em> looking at his brother. For better or worse, Ludwig sighed and evidently decided to let it go. He folded the laptop and tucked it away into his leather briefcase, sat at his feet, before digging out a book and finally relaxing back into his seat. Feliciano barely stirred as Ludwig casually draped his arm over him, pulling him just a little closer.</p><p>By the time the train had chugged into the Rosenheim station, picking up passengers and letting others off in the same monotonous routine, even Gilbert had to admit to getting a little tired. He’d gotten more than enough sleep the night before, if only by the virtue of knocking himself out. The meds always left him feeling a little groggy the next day, particularly when he over did it. He’d take a nap, and by the time he woke up, they’d be in Salzburg. Easy. So, Gilbert shoved his phone into his pocket, stretching out the kink in his back before settling down again and pulling his coat down from the hook on the compartment wall to drape over his lap. Just as he heard the electronic voice in the station outside announcing the last chance to board, Gilbert’s eyes drifted out the window, already growing heavy. </p><p>His gaze gravitated toward a woman on the platform, staring directly back at him through the glass. Gilbert blinked, not thinking much of it at first. She was elderly, likely in her nineties, with a long shock of white hair woven into an elegant braid over her shoulder. She wore a long black coat with a fur collar, and stood with the aid of a black mahogany cane with a silver handle. She was staring straight at him. The longer Gilbert stared back, the more he was certain. His heart began to race as he sat upright, back ridged. Still, he couldn’t place her - not until she turned up a proud chin, as the train slowly began to move out of the station, that he recognized her. Frieda Braun, former Kingdom of Baden, a women Gilbert knew for a fact had died nearly two years ago. </p><p>Frozen in place, Gilbert watched her, as she watched him, head turning slowly to follow the train car until she’d finally disappeared from view. Gilbert shifted forward, closer to the window, trying to look back at the platform where she had been standing. The train had already moved too far ahead, slowly picking up speed as it exited the station. Gilbert groaned, rubbing the heel of his palm in his eyes. </p><p>“Gilbert?” Ludwig muttered, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Feliciano. He watched him intently over the top of his book. “Are you alright?”</p><p>He was starting to get sick of hearing that question. It was only repeated so much by virtue of him not answering, and even as he could recognize that, he knew that he could not answer. Not without admitting that he was losing his mind. Gilbert did not answer at first, likely not helping his case. He sat back in his seat, the train car shifting from side to side, rocking them gently along with it. With a sigh sinking low into the pit of his stomach, he nearly responded with another automatic reassurance - until the moment he saw a figure in black moving by the frosted window of their compartment door, with the same white hair and walking cane. The woman moved by in a second, so smooth she could have been gliding. Gilbert stared at the door a moment too long. The moment Ludwig began to shut his book, Gilbert pushed his coat off his lap and stood. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m just fine,” he replied. “Just gonna go for a walk to the dining cart, maybe get a drink while I’m up. Text me if you want anything.” </p><p>Gilbert pulled the door back and slid it back into place behind him before Ludwig could really respond. It was the first time he’d stood in the past hour and a half, leaving his legs feeling unsteady underneath him. Rolling his shoulders back, Gilbert looked down the hall in both directions, trying in vain to see if he could spot the woman, to debunk his own delusions. No such luck. Gilbert followed after the direction he’d seen her walk in. He was walking backwards, a step slower toward their destination than anyone on the train, lingering a moment behind in time. He felt that as he breached over to the dining cart, the snow covered expanse of Europe pausing a moment to meet him with each step before the train pulled him along. </p><p>The dining cart wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t exactly busy. There was a couple sitting at a small table by the window, sharing a slice of cake and two coffees, and a man in a business suit reading the newspaper, having long forgotten the sandwich sitting in front of him. A bartender chatted with a stewardess over the bar, all the bottles and glasses secured on their shelves. No sign of Frieda.</p><p>Of course there was no sign of Frieda. She was dead. For all GIlbert knew, his meds were playing football with his brain, kicking it deflated and stomping it full of holes. Maybe he ought to check if they were expired or something. Maybe he should stop drinking when they were still in his system. Maybe he should stop drinking. God, he wanted a drink. </p><p>Gilbert continued on toward the bathroom after standing in the middle of the dining cart for a few minutes too long debating a strong vodka on the rocks. He shut the door and switched on the No Vaccancy sign, left standing in the dim watercloset, no bigger than an airplane toilet. It smelled of disinfectant and too much air freshener, and the roar of the train’s wheels on the tracks seemed somehow amplified. Gilbert threw the faucet on and splashed the water over his face, hissing at the relieving cold. He was still trying to rationalise all of this. He had never really been able to put a stop on his obsession with finding the truth in everything, in stripping down a situation to its core. It’d been a strength and a detriment all his life, both giving him an analytical edge and making him prone to fits of neurotic fixations. </p><p>Gilbert exhaled, letting the water drip down off his chin, the tip of his nose, from his eyebrows and down into his eyes, blurring his vision. It was no wonder, then, that when he looked into the mirror, his eyes did not immediately fall on the woman in black standing behind him. Frieda’s face, skin aged and dripping off her bones, stared at him through the mirror. So close to his back in this tight space, that he swore he could feel her foul breath ghosting over the back of his neck. </p><p>There was no scream. No commotion. Gilbert sucked in a gasp, dragging like razors down his throat, as he spun around to face her. He saw nothing. His vision went dark, overtaken by the purest black he’d ever seen. Gilbert stumbled back, expecting his waist to hit the edge of the sink, but he felt nothing, he saw nothing. Just as he had in the courtyard, Gilbert felt he could not breathe for the life of him, that there was no oxygen left in the wide, empty universe. </p><p>But it was not smoke, this time. It was water. Cold as ice, stinging his skin, brackish water flooded his lungs and burned in his nose. Like trying to take a gasp, sinking in the middle of the ocean. Gilbert had always hated the water, to be entirely honest. He’d never been fit for sea travel. Always caught himself looking over the wooden rails of the galleons he’d been forced to sail on, staring down into the abyss, waiting for it to rise up and swallow him down into the unknown darkness. Gilbert did not do well with Unknown.</p><p>And here it was, the dreaded Unknowable, dragging him down, down, down into the watery core of the earth, where the fires had long since burned out, and hell had frozen over. </p><p>Gilbert thrashed. He threw his eyes open, and through the violent currents, could see the room once again. Dancing in and out of the corners of his vision, he saw the pillars, the torchlight, the figures all standing in a circle around him. He could feel their gazes trying to pin him down, chains tying him in place. His shoulder flared in pain, a frozen spear driven straight through his flesh.</p><p>He opened his eyes at the sound of knocking. Gilbert stood in the cramped train bathroom again, facing the mirror, hands braced on the edges of the sink. The water was still dripping down off the tip of his nose. His eyes shot up to the mirror, searching the reflection. He was alone.</p><p>Someone outside knocked again. “Excusez-moi?” a woman with a soft Marseillais accent called through the door. “Avez-vous fini? Mon fils-”</p><p>“Un moment s'il vous plaît,” Gilbert replied in his hasty French, ripping a plush paper towel from the dispenser on the wall to clean off his face. </p><p>Walking out of the bathroom, Gilbert did not spare a glance at the other travelers. He made his way back through the dining cart, this time stopping for a glass of Zirbenlikör on ice, before returning to his own compartment. Ludwig only glanced up at Gilbert for a brief moment when he dropped back into his seat. He had said he was going out to get a drink, and he’d returned as such, but even still as Gilbert leaned back into his former position, he could feel his brother’s suspicious gaze catching glimpses from over the top of his book when he thought he wasn’t looking. Nonchalant as he tried to be, that was probably what gave him away - trying too hard to look normal. </p><p>When Gilbert finally caught Ludwig looking, he took a long sip of his drink, rolling the pine-flavoured liquor over his tongue, before swallowing with a shrug. “You didn’t say you wanted anything, you’re not gettin’ any of mine.” </p><p>“That’s not what I-” Ludwig frowned, trying to keep his voice low to avoid waking his sleeping partner. He made a face as Gilbert grinned back at him from over the rim of his glass, before rolling his eyes and finally focusing back on his book. </p><p> </p><p>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p>The snow had steadily picked up by the time they pulled into Salzburg station. They could see it dusting the mountains, blurring the distance between here and there in a soft haze. The train slowed down as it rolled through the city decorated from corner to corner in speckled lights and garland. The alcohol had mellowed Gilbert out some, but he still spent the majority of the last hour sitting back in his seat with his eyes closed, pretending to sleep. He wouldn’t admit it to himself that he was avoiding looking out the window. It was true, of course, but he was pretty damn good at lying to himself. </p><p>With their bags in hand and coats shrugged on, the three of them shuffled off with the last of the passengers disembarking at the station, stepping off the train and out onto the platform. Salzburg station was wide and open, the domed glass ceiling allowing the grey winter light in. The moment they had moved off to the side to let the stream of other passengers by, Ludwig was slipping out his phone. </p><p>“Roderich said he would be here by the time our train arrived to pick us up,” he reported as he scrolled through his phone to check his old messages. </p><p>Gilbert shrugged his bag over his shoulder, flashing a smirk at his brother. “We might have been better off getting a cab.” </p><p>Feliciano seemed to tune out the conversation entirely, eyes wandering about the station with a far off look, his mouth forming a soft line. Gilbert watched him out of the corner of his eyes, as the Italian’s gaze fell on Ludwig, who was still obviously confirming their ride. </p><p>“He can’t possibly get lost,” Ludwig frowned, though his tone wasn’t very confident, “he’s been here a thousand times be-” </p><p>Feliciano was kissing him before he could get the words out. Hands curled into the lapels of Ludwig’s grey coat, Feli pulled him down to meet his lips, a small smile creeping out. Ludwig’s eyes went wide, and he nearly dropped his phone in the sudden confusion. Still, he did not outright object or pull away, even if his cheeks were dusted faintly pink by the time Feliciano broke the kiss, looking all to pleased with himself. </p><p>“I… what was that for?” Ludwig asked, eyes slightly dazed. </p><p>Feliciano only continued to smile. He glanced around them at the station one more time before settling on Ludwig’s face. Lifting his hand, he cupped it tenderly to Ludwig’s cheek, caressing his thumb against his temple. “Setting things right,” he replied. </p><p>Ludwig blinked, mouth parted, his expression all at once changing the moment he realised what Feliciano was talking about - whatever that was. </p><p>Gilbert found himself a bit surprised when Ludwig seemed to melt into Feliciano’s hand for a moment, shoulders relaxing as he reached up to wrap his fingers gently around the Italian’s wrist. He guided Feliciano’s hand down, kissing his palm, before pressing one more peck to his lips. Ludwig wasn’t one for public displays of affection - but every so often, he seemed to make an exception for Feliciano. Tempted as Gilbert was to wolf whistle and disturb the moment, he showed a bit of restraint for the time being. Although, he did nudge Ludwig lightly with his elbow as they finally began to leave the platform. </p><p>In the end, they waited at the entrance of the station for another twenty minutes before Roderich’s car pulled up to the curb. Leaving the car running, Roderich got out of the driver’s seat and met the trio on the pavement as they descended the front steps. Feliciano wasted absolutely no time, dropping his bags on the icy concrete and throwing his arms around the Austrian for a hug in greeting. Roderich patted Feliciano on the back briefly, met with the stares of the two Germans over his shoulder. When Feliciano let go and stepped aside, Roderich merely slipped his hand back into his coat pocket, turning his chin up at the brothers. </p><p>“There was no parking,” he claimed. “I had to circle the block. <em>And</em>, since you were on a later train, there was traffic, so-”</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Gilbert smirked. Roderich bristled at him, but Gilbert only grinned wider to get under his skin. “Blame us for getting lost in one of your own major cities.” </p><p>“I was not <em>lost</em>,” Roderich snipped, though regardless he popped the boot of the car open for them to load their bags. “There was <em>traffic</em>.” Gilbert glanced around them, gesturing to the uncongested streets. There were plenty of pedestrians out, but little to no other cars on the roads. Roderich narrowed his eyes at him as he walked to the driver’s side door. “I will leave you here,” he threatened. </p><p>Gilbert, hand on the passenger side door handle, merely raised his eyebrows. “Bet.”</p><p>“Both of you,” Ludwig sighed as he and Feliciano shifted into the back seat. “<em>Please</em>, just grow up and get in the car.” </p><p>The <em>“He started it”</em> was practically visible on Roderich’s tongue, but he managed to hold it in, instead turning up his chin at both Ludwig and Gilbert as he slid into the car - because, obviously, he was oh so much more <em>dignified</em> than either of them and wouldn’t stood so low. Of course. </p><p>Once they were all seated, Roderich pulled out onto the streets of Salzburg. The car was warm, and an air freshener plugged into the vent gave off the faint scent of cinnamon and cloves - it was just barely present though. Roderich had probably kept that thing in the car so long out of sheer refusal to replace it. Gilbert leaned back into his seat, turning up the radio a knotch on the dial to listen to the music. </p><p>It was silent for the first several minutes before they hit a stop light heading southwest from the city. Feliciano leaned forward between the two front seats. “Um… Roderich, we’re going in the wrong direction.” </p><p>Gilbert, to his credit, didn’t laugh. </p><p>Immediately. </p><p>It was long since dark by the time they made it through Sankt Sergius and up the mountain road toward the familiar monolith of Roderich’s estate. No one said anything, but it was a natural and unspoken gravitation, when the ruins of Sankt Bacchus appeared high up on the mountain peak above them. Tense wasn’t quite the word to describe the atmosphere in the car. It was quiet. Observant. In the rear view mirror, Gilbert caught a glance of Ludwig shifting his hand over on the seat to lay over Feliciano’s with a gentle squeeze that Feli quickly reciprocated. Not a moment later, a heavy cloud rolled overhead, and the ruins disappeared. </p><p>Roderich’s abysmal sense of direction thankfully did not fail them the rest of the way up to his home. By the time they’d pulled into the converted stables, wind had begun to pick up, bringing with it a blinding snow veil that the headlights of the car were just barely able to pierce through. With their bags slung over their shoulders and dragging behind them on the path, they turned their coats against the wind and rushed into the house, through the doors of the old kitchen. Gilbert let out a shivered holler as he shut the door behind the others, shaking the snow from his hair and from the back of his neck. </p><p>Feliciano laughed as he tried to shield himself from the spray, while the other two were less than amused. It was a shuffle at the door, shedding their coats and tapping the snow off their shoes. There was a small coat room off to the side where Roderich stored everything. Dragging their bags along, they headed through the old style kitchen and out into the corridor leading to the dinning room, the foyer, the sitting room, and the grand staircase. </p><p>“I have the same rooms as last year set up for you,” Roderich reported as he walked ahead of them. The snow had dampened his hair, springing the slight curl pattern back to life. “Except I figured you two would be sharing, Ludwig and Feli, so I have Ludwig’s room ready for the both of you.” It went without saying why neither of them might be all that fond of the idea of staying in Feliciano’s room from the year before. </p><p>They headed up through the old servant’s stairs, closer to the bedrooms than the ostentatious staircase at the front of the house. Gilbert noticed almost immediately that Feli’s guest room door was shut. He didn’t linger on it long. To be honest, he didn’t anticipate it feeling so… strange to be back here after a year had passed. Things had ended… well, maybe not ideally the year before, but with everyone together and healing, they’d managed to have a fairly decent holiday. They’d left with good memories, though they still could never quite overshadow the horror they’d experienced. </p><p>Still, that was the nature of the whole house, after all these years. Gilbert had stayed here more times than he could count over centuries upon centuries. The memories that sat in these walls were just as endless - both good and bad, extraordinary and terrible. In that way, Gilbert could understand Roderich’s insistence on hosting Christmas again this year. They would move on because they had to, because there was no other choice, because it wasn’t in the nature of any immortal to be stagnant. </p><p>Roderich soon left them to get settled in. Gilbert did not linger in his room long, tossing his bag onto the end of the bed and pulling off his sweater to replace with a lighter, sleet grey long sleeve. The quick change did wonders for feeling a little more at ease after the long afternoon of travel. When he left his bedroom, Feliciano and Ludwig were still getting settled, but he wasted no time in leaving them to it and heading down the stairs to find the others. He went down through the grand foyer, sliding down on the banister just <em>hoping</em> Roderich would see him and tell him off. Either way, he figured Francis, Antonio, and Lovino would be here by now, and - </p><p>And Gilbert crashed right into them at the bottom of the stairs. The sneaky bastards hid at the curve of the stairs just at the end, behind the tall and elegantly decorated Christmas Tree, and jumped out just as Gilbert had hoped off the end. Well, Antonio and Francis did, at least. Lovino watched from the other end of the foyer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and rolling his eyes. Colliding with his friends at the bottom of the stairs, the Spaniard and Frenchman caught either side of his arms, just barely keeping him from face planting onto the marble tile. Gilbert laughed, shoving his arms out of their grasp, and shoving them once more for good measure. </p><p>“You dicks!” he laughed. </p><p>“What a way to greet your beloved friends, Gilbert,” Francis smiled as he patted his friend’s back. “We go out of our way to give you a warm welcome, and you insult us.”</p><p>“You scared the shit outta me,” Gilbert retorted. “I was <em>this</em> close to breaking your nose, Toni.”</p><p>Antonio raised his hands in a placating gesture. “But you didn’t! And a good thing, too. It would have been a major loss to humanity to ruin my face.”</p><p>Francis turned to Antonio raising a brow. “And how many times have you broken your nose before? I can think of a dozen at least in the past two hundred years. If it were <em>me </em>however- “</p><p>“I think it would be an improvement,” Gilbert grinned. </p><p>Antonio did not even try to hold back his laughing, grasping onto Gilbert’s shoulder and doubling over at the look of sheer betrayal on Francis’ face. Gilbert laughed along just the same, but couldn’t help the ache that resurfaced with Antonio’s grip on his shoulder.</p><p>Francis glared at the two of them. “Remind me again <em>why</em> I came all this way?”</p><p>“Because,” Gilbert smirked as he slung his arm over Francis’s shoulders, “we’re the only people in Europe stupid enough to be friends with you.” </p><p>From across the room, Lovino finally pushed off the wall, approaching the trio of friends. “Well, you’re right about that at least.” </p><p>“Good to see you too, <em>Lovi,”</em> Gilbert fired back with that ever-present, infuriating grin. Lovino scowled, flipping him off for <em>daring</em> to use the unauthorized pet name. Another friend pissed off, another name ticked off his list for the holidays. That just about accounted for everyone in the house - except for Feli, but beyond some teasing he could never do that. He wasn’t <em>that</em> heartless. </p><p>Speaking of, Feliciano was quickly bounding down the stairs, Ludwig following at a slower pace in his wake. “Lovino!” Feliciano cheered, hoping off the last step and throwing his arms around his brother in a tight hug. Lovino stumbled back a step, arms coming up reflexively around his younger brother, before pushing him back. Feliciano remained unperturbed in his glee. “I’m so glad you came! How was your trip here? You came in yesterday afternoon, didn’t you?”</p><p>“The trip was fine, Feli,” Lovino said as he peeled his brother off of him. He held him at arm’s length for a moment, looking at him with a suspicious glare. “And you’re feeling alright?”</p><p>Feliciano sighed aloud and overdramatic at the question. “I’m feeling <em>fine</em>, Lovi. As I have been for the past eleven months.”</p><p>“Don’t think I won’t catch your ass if you’re lying to me,” Lovino threatened, pointing a finger at him. “But good. That means you can’t get out of cooking dinner with me tonight. I want to have at least <em>one</em> good meal while we’re here.” </p><p>Feliciano regarded his brother with mild suspicion. “What are we making?” </p><p>“I have everything we need for Arancini.”</p><p>“That’s so much work!” Feliciano whined. </p><p>Lovino’s mouth turned up in the ghost of a smirk as he regarded his brother without pity. “I have a bottle of limoncello in it for you, but I’m only opening it if you help.”</p><p>Feliciano grinned at that, a silent agreement as he threw his arms around his brother once again. He paused, though, pulling back just enough to stare back at Lovino. “It’s the limoncello from Capri?” he asked. </p><p>Lovino nodded. “And a bar of the orange chocolate, but I’m saving that for future bribes.” </p><p>Smile returning, Feliciano kissed both his cheeks. Lovino rolled his eyes, but kissed his brother’s cheeks in return regardless. </p><p>“Speaking of alcohol,” Gilbert cut in, slinging an arm around Feliciano, earning himself a peel of laughter, “someone explain to me why I don’t have a glass in my hand right now.” </p><p>And the last dredges of the afternoon passed in just that manner, well into the evening and after their meal was cooked and eaten. The first night on arrival to a holiday like this was always an odd sort, mixing the exhaustion of the day of travel with the thrill of arriving, and the serenity that came too with settling in. It was all wine and food and laughter, the crackling of the hearth fire and sweet smoke rising up the flume, mingling with fresh pine from the garland and the spice cake set out for everyone to pick at. </p><p>Gilbert was there. Physically, anyway, and mentally for the most part. He had absolutely no problem laughing along with his friends, trading jabs and memories all through out the evening. It wasn’t that he was distracted or out of sorts. However, there was absolutely no denying the fact that although he remained normal on the outside, his mind was periodically drawn elsewhere; to the dark corners of the room, the windows and mountain peaks and black pines that looked too much like human silhouettes from the corner of his eyes.  </p><p>When dinner was finished and cleared away, Gilbert ended up with Roderich in the kitchen to wash the dishes after losing the ancient art of “nose-goes”. With the others in the sitting room, Gilbert and Roderich stood side by side over the kitchen sink, waiting for it to fill up with suds and warm water. It was once the servant’s kitchen, back when Roderich had been able to employ a staff. Things had started getting more complicated with the invention of photographs, and worse as technology progressed. Gilbert had always found himself wary of new technologies when they were first introduced, waiting to see how well they would stick, before absorbing them wholeheartedly - even when they did begin to make keeping his identity a secret that much more difficult. </p><p>Technology, however, was more often than not an improvement - like the addition of running water in a centuries old house. And central heating. And internet (although the strength was absolute shit). </p><p>Gilbert turned the faucet off once he deemed the large sink full enough, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows as he loaded the first round of dishes into the water. Suds went flying on impact, flying onto Roderich’s glasses and in his hair. Roderich made a face as he slipped his glasses off to clean on the edge of his sweater, turning a glare up at Gilbert when he started to laugh. After flicking his finger into the suds to get Gilbert back, he replaced his glasses and grabbed a dish towel for drying.</p><p>“So,” Roderich began as Gilbert passed him the first clean dish, “that’s quite the bruise on Ludwig’s face. I’m assuming that’s part of the long story you were talking about earlier?”</p><p>Gilbert stared down into the water, his hands distorted ripples beneath the surface. “Yeah, big guy was a little banged up so we tried to take it easy this morning,” he said. </p><p>Roderich raised a sharp brow. “I could see that much for myself.” </p><p>Realising he wasn’t going to get out of this without some kind of explanation, Gilbert sighed, making no effort to hide his annoyance. “It happened at the Markets last night. I didn’t see it, I wasn’t there, but apparently he… thought he saw something.” </p><p>“Something?”</p><p>“Konrad.” </p><p>Roderich’s hands stilled. He set the plate aside, meeting Gilbert’s eyes with a hesitant concern. “He thought he saw Konrad,” Roderich repeated. </p><p>“More specifically,” Gilbert said as he passed Roderich another plate, “he thought he saw Konrad in the crowd and then… something attacked him. Feliciano said he couldn’t see what it was either, but it looked like some kind of… shadow. This black mass that just bowled him over. He hit his head on the fall. When I found the two of them, he was still pretty out of it.” </p><p>Roderich accepted the plate, swiping the towel over the surface and paying little attention to the task as he did so. “God, what could that mean?” he asked. </p><p>Gilbert plunged a pan down into the water, taking a sponge that’d already been used within an inch of its life to start scrubbing. “I means that it’s been a year since Konrad died, and all those memories are being dredged up again. That’s it.” </p><p>“And Feliciano seeing some kind of a shadow figure attacking follows that-”</p><p>“Feliciano first said he saw nothing,” Gilbert cut him off with a shrug. “It all happened quickly, and he was reasonably scared. Doesn’t mean anything.” </p><p>“And that’s exactly why you’re being so dismissive?” Roderich questioned as he pointedly set his plate aside. </p><p>“Yes,” Gilbert answered point blank. He stopped scrubbing, looking back at Roderich at last. “You can’t tell me everything feels resolved. I know we’re all trying to move on from it, I am too, but that doesn’t mean it all goes away.”</p><p>Roderich scowled. “I <em>do</em> know that,” he clipped. </p><p>“So,” Gilbert pressed, “it’s been tough on everyone. Him especially. Considering he’s still processing a lot of memories, it’s not far off to assume that he could have seen something that wasn’t really there.”</p><p>Roderich held out for a long moment, staring back at Gilbert in the dim, electric light of the kitchen. Outside those walls, the sound of a guitar plucking out a holiday tune resonated with conversation and laughter, glasses clinking like bells over the din. The two of them were isolated there, locked in their own while the party continued on apart from them. Finally, Roderich sighed, and held his hands out to take the pan. “I suppose that is understandable,” he conceded, though Gilbert could hear the suspended belief in his tone. He didn’t quite buy it, but he wasn’t going to push the matter for now. “It’s been… a lot to process for everyone.”</p><p>“You’re thinking about Erzsé,” Gilbert pointed out. </p><p>Roderich nodded, the two of them once again falling into the rhythm of washing and drying the dishes. Once Roderich had a sizable stack of plates, he brought them to the cupboard to be put away. “I tried to convince her to come, but she seemed adamant on staying in Budapest this year,” he shook his head. </p><p>“Same here,” Gilbert sighed. “I talked to her two nights ago… she said she didn’t want to bring everyone else down. I mean, I can understand that it might still be too fresh, but that’s no reason to be alone for Christmas, y’know? If it were the other way around, she’d be dragging us here.” </p><p>Roderich chuckled. “That does sound about right. Still,” he gave Gilbert a knowing look, “no one’s ever been able to successfully tell her what to do.” </p><p>“Not without a black eye,” Gilbert grinned. </p><p>Roderich met his smile, deep brown eyes flashing almost violet in the flushed light. Falling back into pace, they made quick work of washing the dishes and getting everything put away. By the time Gilbert pulled the drain plug, his fingertips were wrinkled and his hands smelled of lemon-scented dish soap. He swiped the towel from off of Roderich’s shoulder to dry his hands off, gaze drifting out the window.</p><p>“It does feel different this year, I’ll admit that,” Gilbert muttered, leaning his hip against the countertop. “It’s the end of something. All the old Kingdoms are dead…”</p><p>“Not all of them,” Roderich countered from the other side of the counter, elbows braced on the wooden surface. </p><p>Gilbert paused at that. He stared down at the towel in his hands, folding it idly and setting it down. Roderich’s words echoed in his head, dragging forther the adrenaline and fear fueled memory of the last words he’d said to Konrad before killing him. Gilbert met Roderich’s eyes again, balling up the towel at the last minute and tossing it at his face. “Guess it’s just us two crusty old bastards now, huh?” </p><p>Roderich caught the towel just before it hit him, making a point out of folding it again and hanging it on the towel rack to dry. “If you want to be vulgar about it, then yes, I guess so.” </p><p>“Lucky us,” Gilbert smirked. Roderich only rolled his eyes, putting the last glass forgotten glass away before heading toward the door. Moving to follow, Gilbert’s attention was drawn toward the window again. It was nearly impossible to see outside at this hour, with the moon hidden behind thick clouds and no other light in the vicinity. Still, he could have sworn that for just a moment, he saw something move out there in the darkness. He paused, staring out the window, waiting with an anxious flush through his chest for something to happen. </p><p>“Gilbert?” Roderich called. Gilbert shook his head, eyes snapping to the now-open kitchen door. Roderich was already halfway down the hall, stopping when he realised Gilbert wasn’t following. “Are you okay?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Gilbert answered quickly. The mask went back up. He turned his back on the window, and the hairs stood on the back of his neck. </p><p> </p><p>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Berlin, 1860’s</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gilbert stood tight-lipped and stiff as he listened to the Chancellor speak down to him. It took about every ounce of limited self-control he had not to snap. The more he listened to this man speak out of his own ass, the heavier became the presence of a cast-iron ball behind his teeth –opening his mouth would set him off like a canon. He’d left Ludwig at home with a swarm of nurses and a stubborn prayer that morning. The boy hadn’t been conscious in days. He’d always been rather sickly, but with the end of yet another power struggle between the warring states, his health had declined rapidly. Gilbert was running out of options. His desperation was growing.</p><p>“The Union will never work,” the Chancellor said with dismissive wave. “Confederation is out of the question. There is no chance of getting the southern states to join us.”</p><p>Gilbert sucked in a breath through his nose, swallowing the taste of gunpowder and metal before he dared to speak. “And why not?” he asked through gritted teeth.</p><p>A Nobleman to Gilbert’s left spoke up. The room was filled with self-important politicians and nobles, with all the pomp and circumstance that came with them, as they stood in the Kaiser’s throne room. This one in particular had been grating on Gilbert’s nerves all afternoon. A Baron, Gilbert was fairly certain. He’d brought his son with him to learn the ways of the court, a pompous brat that had whined about being bored every time he’d opened his mouth. Gilbert’s patience, needless to say, was already tissue-thin. “We may have won control over the German territories from Austria, but the Confederation is too weak. It will never last.”</p><p>“If we don’t make this work, he will die,” Gilbert snarled.</p><p>“Then the boy will die,” the Baron rolled his eyes. “What does it matter? The Confederation will fail, and he will die. That is what you and your kind <em>do</em>.”</p><p>And just like that, all of the tension drained from Gilbert’s body. The picture of calm, Gilbert considered the man’s words, and nodded. “Yes. Alright,” he replied thoughtfully, and then promptly drew his sword from the decorative sheath of his dress uniform. Before anyone had the time to react, Gilbert had rushed forward and grabbed the Baron’s son by the collar, dragging him back in a tight grip and holding the blade of his sword against the boy’s neck.</p><p>The room burst into an uproar, but no one dared to go after Gilbert when he had the Baron’s son held hostage. Everyone instantly took a step back.</p><p>“Have you lost your mind?!” the Baron shouted.</p><p>Still maintaining his eerie, casual air, Gilbert only shrugged. “What does it matter?” he asked in a bored tone. “Each and every one of you, you all live such short and insignificant lives. You are only mortal. I have seen things you cannot fathom. I have seen Kingdoms and Empires rise and fall. I have seen the worst of Saints and the best of Sinners, and it has all passed to me in the blink of an eye. So<em>, what does it matter?</em>” Gilbert pressed the blade of his sword against the boy’s neck just hard enough to draw a trickle of blood.</p><p>The Baron pleaded, voice shrill and demanding. “Stop! Stop this at once, you’ll kill him!”</p><p>“Then he will die,” Gilbert echoed with a predatory tilt of his head. “After all, that is what you and your kind <em>do</em>.”</p><p>Not a single breath could be heard in the Great Hall. Gilbert had made his point. With a snarl, Gilbert withdrew his sword and threw the boy at his father’s feet. He sheathed the sword again, and as an afterthought, took the handkerchief out of his pocket and tossed it at trembling boy.</p><p>“The Confederation <em>will </em>work,” Gilbert said matter-of-factly as he straightened his uniform lapel. “You will ensure that it does.”</p><p>“Beilschmidt,” The Chancellor finally spoke again, hesitant as he stepped toward him. “Confederation will not necessarily ensure that… <em>he</em> lives.”</p><p>Gilbert turned on his heel with a snarl. “I don’t care,” he snapped as he walked toward the doors. “Give him all of Prussia if you have to. See to it that he survives.”</p><p>He left no room for reply or argument. Throwing the doors open, Gilbert left the court behind him, allowing them to swing shut behind him, each resonating bang of the heavy latches closing only serving to nail his point home. For a moment, he nearly expected a bitter alpine wind, rushing up a mountain top to strike his face, nearly felt the overbearing presence of a Cathedral at his back. It was a similar sort of feeling to that night almost 50 years ago - the same conviction. </p><p>Outside, Gilbert stopped to fix his belt and the sheath on his uniform, taking a moment to breathe and calm down. He did not take great pleasure in hurting kids - but that pompous little boy was an arrogant pissant just like his father and probably needed a little mortal fear. Probably deserved it. Gilbert did not dwell long on that. He had to get home. </p><p>“Well,” a voice spoke up from Gilbert’s left. He turned toward the window alcove, where none other than Roderich Edelstien came walking out around a velvet curtain, clapping his hands in a slow and rather smug manner. “That was certainly dramatic.” </p><p>Casting a quick glance at the doors behind him and the corridor behind, Gilbert grabbed Rodierch by the arm and dragged him back into the alcove. “What the <em>hell</em> are you thinking, coming here?” he hissed. </p><p>Entirely unperturbed by Gilbert’s huffing, Roderich <em>kindly</em> removed himself from the Prussian’s grip and brushed off his overcoat. “I had a sudden craving for Königsberger Klopse.” </p><p>Gilbert’s eyes narrowed to a knife’s edge, shifting and looking over his shoulder once again to be sure they weren’t being watched. “If anyone sees you here, Roderich, you <em>know-</em>” </p><p>“Oh, please,” Roderich rolled his eyes. “I walked straight through the front door. No one seemed to notice or care one way or the other.” He seemed almost annoyed at Gilbert’s righteous anger, rolling his eyes and adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. </p><p>After a moment’s suspicious deliberation, Gilbert finally let up, his posture still tense but decidedly less confrontational. “What are you doing here?” he asked again, folding his arms across his chest. </p><p>“I’d heard rumours that you were causing quite a fuss about this whole Confederation business,” Roderich replied easily. “I came to see it for myself.” </p><p>“A fuss,” Gilbert seethed. “After the bloody war <em>your</em> people put up against it?” </p><p>Roderich stared back at him as if he’d completely lost his mind. “Yes, that one, I should think.” </p><p>Gilbert’s lip curled, his hand sliding down to wrap around the hilt of his sword with a menacing snarl. “I <em>could </em>have you taken as prisoner.”</p><p>“You’re not going to do that,” Roderich rolled his eyes, “ you’re going to have dinner with me. Come on.” </p><p>It was only a moment that Gilbert held up the act, before dropping his hand from his weapon and shrugging casually as if the confrontation had never happened. “Yeah, alright.” </p><p>And that was that. No fuss, no grandstanding, not even a trace of animosity left as the two <em>seemingly</em> young men walked out into the streets of Berlin, the carriages rattling over cobblestone, the bustling crowds and distant music broken up by further shouts - all distinctly Berlin, and at the very same time, almost indistinguishable from any other European city in that day and age. Similar elements, for sure. Even in their grand attire, Gilbert in his formal military uniform and Roderich in his fine civilian clothing, they did not seem to draw a stray eye. All the better, if Gilbert was being honest. Being noticed only ever drew trouble. </p><p>They ended up in a small restaurant not far from the city centre. Despite the fact that this was very much <em>his</em> city, Gilbert found himself following Roderich, as the man seemed to have this singular destination in mind. He’d only realized that Roderich must have made some sort of reservation earlier when they were shown to a secluded table by a veiled window on the far side of the restaurant the moment they walked through the door. It was an Inn, he realized afterwards. Roderich must have booked his lodgings there with the intent to stay in Berlin at least for a night. So, he was not exactly passing through casually. He’d thought ahead about making this journey, about confronting Gilbert. In the end, he was not certain if this was promising or damning, but could not find it in himself to care either way - the scent of cooking food wafting from the kitchen was too extraordinary to pass on.</p><p>Gilbert shed his deep blue overcoat, his sword, and dropped in his chair with a heavy sigh. Roderich, on the other side of the small table, shed his overcoat but not his jacket, opting instead to slightly push his sleeves up so as not to dirty his cuffs - typical. </p><p>Roderich nodded curtly to the waiter, who came to their table with a gentile bow and listed off the menu. Roderich ordered for them, just a bottle of Berliner Wiesse to split and a charcuterie platter. “So,” he began once the watier had taken his leave. “That really <em>was</em> quite the scene you caused back there. A little bit extreme, don’t you think?” </p><p>Gilbert shrugged. He threw his arm over the back of his chair, slumping back into it. “It got the point across, did it not?” </p><p>“Yes, but I wouldn’t exactly credit it to your skills as an orator.”</p><p>Gilbert grinned devilishly. “Neither would I.” </p><p>With only a mildly disapproving look, Roderich, fixed his spectacles again and folded his arms on the table. “Yes, well…” he began, only to stall as he struggled to find the correct way to approach the subject. “Gilbert, there’s been quite a bit of talk about your… ambition, let’s say,” he said. </p><p>Gilbert raised a brow at him. “I do say, in fact.” </p><p>“Your ambition,” Roderich conceded with a tightly wound tone that <em>strongly</em> suggested the Prussian allow him to get through this without his help. “This is about more than building an Empire, isn’t it? You are truly trying to establish one German Nation. You said it yourself, you’d give Prussia to do it.” </p><p>“I know what I said,” Gilbert snapped. </p><p>“And you know what will happen if you succeed.” </p><p>Gilbert leaned forward over the table, eyes dead set on Roderich’s. “I <em>know</em> what I said.” </p><p>The Austrian man regarded him in silence for a long while. The dining room continued on, entirely unaware of the two beings sitting amoung them, their unfathomable lives. It was long since dark outside, the sun barely giving up a whimper of colour as it faded into the cold, grey night. It was Berlin, of course, so there were multitudes of brilliant lamps lining the streets, shining in windows, rattling over the hansom cabs as they rattled along the street. Out in the snow veiled city, those lights were mere glimmers, shaded and softened by the winter. </p><p>Roderich still did not take his gaze off of Gilbert as he sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Neither did Gilbert back down, the very essence of casual confidence, with his arm draped so lazily over the back of his seat. Finally, Roderich sighed, and seemed content at least for the moment not to pry. He knew perhaps better than anyone just how stubborn Gilbert could be - and Gilbert knew that he knew that. It came with several centuries of knowing a person - whether or not that time was always spent amicably. </p><p>The waiter returned, bringing them a bottle of Weisse and two glasses. Gilbert reached across the table, snatching the bottle before Roderich’s fingers had barely brushed the glass, and drawing it to his side. Roderich glared back at him, to which Gilbert only grinned as he poured a glass and passed it back to him. “How is Feliciano fairing these days? Have you seen him much since 66?” </p><p>Roderich took a sip of his beer, every movement so infuriatingly elegant and without effort that Gilbert was half tempted to knock the glass out of his hand. He resisted (barely). “He’s grown so much in the past century, it’s a little daunting,” Roderich replied with a fond ghost of a smile. “We are meeting in Vienna this coming weekend to see a concert and view an exhibition he’d been working on - a bit of a respite he’d used from the War, horrible business that it was.” </p><p>“Oh, <em>that</em> War,” Gilbert echoed as he filled his own glass, as if he didn’t already know. “Did he not just pulverise your forces?”</p><p>“Yes he did, the little beast. No thanks to <em>someone</em>,” Roderich said with an empty glare at the Prussian. </p><p>Gilbert only grinned wider, lifting his glass in a smug, salutary motion before taking a long sip. Gilbert had absolutely no regrets over aiding the Italian army in their fight for independence. After all, he’d only just helped that American child separate from the British a century ago - though, considering the current state of America, maybe that hadn’t been as wise as he thought at the time. It was all a matter of foresight. </p><p>Roderich put up a good facade of pretending to be angry, but Gilbert knew better. It’d been high time that Italy break free of foriegn rule and gain its independence - that much was clear in the slight pride in Roderich’s voice when he spoke about how much he’d grown - Feliciano and his brother. Roderich had to put up a stance against it, but that was purely his duty as Austria. Nothing more. Roderich, perhaps more than most, didn’t take much “duty” into his personal relations. Roderich cleared his throat as he took a sip from his glass. “In any case,” he continued on. “It’s supposed to be a lovely exhibition. He submitted his piece as a Viennese, sort of a goodbye present as he put it. Under the name Ludovico Montante. I thought it a nice little tribute.” </p><p>Gilbert’s hand stilled on the table, wrapped tightly around the stem of his glass. He cast a bored glance out the window, staring through his reflection to the street outside. “Oh… a tribute to what?” </p><p>“To whom,” Roderich corrected. In the amber light of the dining room, Roderich’s reflection was white gold on the frosted glass. He met his gaze through their reflections. Roderich looked far too much like a ghost. “To Holy Rome. It’s been two hundred years now, but you know how close the two of them were, when Ludwig was alive.”” </p><p>Gilbert nodded, the movement too rigid to be natural. “Well,” was all he said in reply, “that’s… touching of him.” </p><p>“After all this time… Feliciano is still quite affected by his death,” Roderich nodded, looking away as he swirled the frothy alcohol around in his glass, and watched it cling to the sides and settle again. “I suppose we all are, in one way or the other.” </p><p>For a long while, Gilbert did not respond to that sentiment. He shifted uneasily in his seat, finally tearing his focus away from the blurry world beyond the window. He was vaguely aware of music playing somewhere deeper into the dining room, a piano crooning a soft melody. It was just barely out of key, he noticed. A bit haunting. Gilbert tilted his head as he looked back at Roderich. “You know, it’s no wonder that your people invented the Waltz.” </p><p>Roderich seemed a bit surprised by that, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “I… pardon?” </p><p>Gilbert only grinned back at him. “Your ability to dance around a subject is extraordinary.” </p><p>The Austrian blinked. All at once, that pompous air deflated from him, and he seemed to groan as he braced his elbows on the table and massaged circles into his temples. “Gilbert, you are insufferable.” </p><p>“You can do better than that.” </p><p>“And a bastard.” </p><p>“That’s more like it.” </p><p>Scrubbing the palm of his hand down his face, and back up again, Roderich combed his fingers back through his dark, chestnut hair before lifting his head again to glare back at Gilbert - who, by the way, was entirely too proud of himself. Still, there was that undeniable string to tension between them, very much a dance around a central topic they both knew they were just stepping around. Roderich finally broached the subject. “This is about the boy…” </p><p>Gilbert tightened his mouth, nodding as he fiddled with the cloth napkin beside his plate. “He’s ill,” he said. “Has been for a long time, but it’s getting worse. He’s a sturdy young man, already as tall as I am, and certainly not weak, but… all this conflict, I know it has something to do with him. He’s meant to be something more than all of us.”</p><p>Roderich listened intently. “Yes, I’d heard he was often ill. However, I’d never seen it for myself. In fact, I don’t think I ever have seen the boy in person. None of us really have,” he added pointedly. “He’s only ever been a rumour.” </p><p>“Too sick to travel,” Gilbert waved him off. “And I couldn’t chance visitors. Doctor’s orders.” </p><p>Struggling not to get frustrated, Roderich pushed on. “That is what I’d heard,” he agreed. “And I had also heard that you’d named him Ludwig,” Roderich added slowly. Gilbert could feel his eyes on him like a needle’s tip as he struggled not to react. “You see, that is partially what sparked my… curiosity, so to say. It had reminded me of Feliciano, creating a pseudonym to honour his late friend. I was only wondering if you’d perhaps taken it a step further.” </p><p>Gilbert did not reply. Outwardly, he remained unfazed, bored even, as he let his eyes wander between his companion and his drink. However, on the table top, his hand had clenched into a fist around his napkin, knuckles slowly losing colour. He fixed Roderich with a cold gaze, silently suggesting he chose his next words carefully. </p><p>Roderich sighed, leaning forward against the table again. He spoke with his voice low, warry of anyone who might overhear them. “Do not get me wrong,” he began in earnest, “if you named this boy after Holy Rome, that is a well deserved legacy and a kind thing to do. But Gilbert, your obsession with creating this new Nation state - forgive me but it seems reckless. This is not the way to redeem yourself, not by giving up your-”</p><p>“I didn’t name him,” Gilbert interrupted. </p><p>Roderich stopped. The entire argument he’d build came tumbling around him. “What?” </p><p>Arms folded on the table, Gilbert leaned in, meeting Roderich nearly halfway across the table. “I did not name him,” he repeated deliberately. “The day I found him on the banks of the Rhine, he had only two things. His own name… and a rosary.” Gilbert watched with little satisfaction as an awed understanding slowly dawned on Roderich, the significance of those two simple facts. “He told me his name was Ludwig, Roderich. He knew nothing else, not where he came from, or who he was - but he knew his name.” </p><p>Roderich sat back in his chair, exhaling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He passed his hand back over his head, eyeing his glass for a moment before practically snatching it off the table. Roderich down the rest of the Wiesse in one go, though not without a curious and slightly horrified side glance from a passing waiter. Gilbert motioned for another bottle to be brought to the table. </p><p>“My God,” Roderich muttered to himself as he wiped his mouth with the edge of his napkin. “Gilbert, what does this mean?” </p><p>“Haven’t a damn clue,” Gilbert shrugged with far too much nonchalance given the situation, an air that Roderich did <em>not</em> seem to appreciate in the slightest. “I’ve spent the better part of the last five decades trying to figure it out, but the boy is an enigma even to me. Even so,” he smiled, “he’s an incredible young man. Really, a prodigy. He just soaks in everything I teach him. Smart as all hell, and so <em>serious</em>. He’s even put me in my place a few times,” Gilbert laughed. </p><p>Another leaden silence smothered the two of them. Roderich’s mind seemed to be overwhelmed with this revelation, while Gilbert on the other hand was content to simply sit there and remember the last time Ludwig had gotten exasperated with him. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the ceiling, the hanging lights appearing to make the intricate crown moldings dance above his head. “Would you like to know my latest theory?” he asked. Roderich did not respond, but Gilbert could see out of the edges of his vision that he was listening. “I think maybe we’re not Nations at all.” </p><p>Roderich stared back at him, almost a little cautious, as if he’d finally lost his mind. “What?” </p><p>“Think about it,” Gilbert insisted. “How do you know that you are Austria?”</p><p>Adjusting his glasses again, Roderich struggled to follow along with his logic. “Because that’s simply who I am. I <em>am</em> Austria, the sum total of its people-”</p><p>“And the land they live in, yes, I know,” Gilbert rolled his eyes, hardly sparing the waiter a glance as he brought another bottle to the table. He took it and swiftly topped up both their glasses. “That’s what you believe,” he said as he set the bottle down with a little more force than necessary, foam rising up the top and spilling down the side. “But how do you <em>know</em>? Perhaps that’s just what we’ve told ourselves to justify it. Maybe that is what we <em>make</em> ourselves. Do you follow me?”</p><p>“I follow that you’ve gone mad,” Roderich mumbled under his breath as he brought his glass to his lips. </p><p>“Yes, alright, we’re past that,” Gilbert huffed. “My point is that we come into this world with absolutely no clue as to what we are. We only know that we are different. Between that, and a gut feeling of connection to the place we’re born into, what do we <em>really</em> have to go on? No one knows. It may be that the Ancients did, but those old bastards died centuries ago and never thought to write it down.”</p><p>It could have been a trick of the glass, but Gilbert could have sworn he saw Roderich smile. “It seems to me,” he began as he set his drink down again, “that you’ve missed the point entirely.” </p><p>“Have I?” Gilbert raised a brow. </p><p>Roderich nodded. “You make us sound a lot more human than I think you realize.”</p><p>Even Gilbert had to take pause at that, his own words turning over in his head, given new meaning. He stared back at Roderich. In response, he did what any gentleman would do - he dipped his finger in his beer glass and flicked it at his companion. </p><p>Roderich sputtered, wiping the droplets from his face with the corner of his napkin. He, of course, was much too principled to cause a scene like this in the middle of a fine dining establishment. He opted for kicking Gilbert in the shin underneath the table. Gilbert winced, but didn’t shout, only grinning at the Austrian. He could pretend to be well mannered and disciplined all he liked, but they both knew better. </p><p>Roderich could be just as much of a complete bastard as Gilbert. </p><p>At last, the waiter brought their food, a platter of cured meats, bread, and spreads. Roderich made himself a few bites, assembled perfectly on his plate before he ate but, while Gilbert just picked at what he pleased. They sat in silence as they ate, the ambient clatter of silverware, voices, and music in the rest of the dining room filling in the gaps. </p><p>When the bill came, they each set down their share of bank notes, and bundled up in their coats once again to brave the harsh winter night. As they stepped out of the establishment and onto the wide stone stoop, Gilbert slipped his pocket watch out of his coat. He’d meant to be back home hours ago. He closed the pocket watch in his palm, the silver face shutting with a light click. “Are we at war right now?” he asked as he pocketed the timepiece again. </p><p>Roderich paused in the middle of fixing his scarf. <em>Really</em> paused, as if he had to think hard about it. Certainly, they’d just finished one a few years ago. It wasn’t as if Roderich had forgotten that - after all, his defeat had been a large blow to his country, even if Roderich himself hadn’t really had it in him to care which way it ended - if anything, he’d seemed almost happy to lose, even only on the Italian front. But in this day and age there always seemed to be a war somewhere. It was difficult to keep up with. Finally, he shrugged, tucking his scarf into the collar of his wool overcoat. “Hm, not quite sure. I suspect we will be, though, at some point.” </p><p>The snow was falling heavier now, thick flakes blurring the distant amber lights into one singular glow. Gilbert laughed humourlessly, a bare sound that only just made it past his lips. Right. Straightening his back, he stared out into the city. “Roderich…” he started. His voice was softer now, genuine in a way that he rarely was. “Don’t join the Confederation.” </p><p>Roderich knew well what that meant, but could not find any word or thought to respond. Still, the snow continued to fall. The light from inside the restaurant, softened the angles of his pale face, gleaming on the snowflakes that refused to melt on his dark hair. “I have a feeling I would not have been invited to, anyway,” was all he finally said in response. </p><p>Again, Gilbert laughed. “No,” he said as he turned his face up toward the moonless sky. “No, you really wouldn’t have. Can’t join our exclusive club, I’m afraid.” </p><p>With no more words in parting, Gilbert made for the street. A hansom cab had stopped by the pavement below, and Gilbert raised his hand to call him. The cab driver tipped his hat back and waited for his next client, not one to turn down a man dressed in such elegant Military dress. </p><p>However, Gilbert only made it one step down the wide stairs toward the street before Roderich had his hand firmly grasping his arm. Gilbert stopped, looking up at him, the two of them frozen in time. Roderich blinked, pursing his lips at the cold made them dry. “Gilbert,” he said. “You… you don’t do anything unless it is out of self-interest.” </p><p>The “Why” of it all was left up in the air. They both understood, in that moment, what Gilbert was doing, and what the consequences would be for himself and all the other German States that joined this Confederation. A bitter cold wind stirred up the powdery snow around the feet. Gilbert only flashed a wild grin. “Oh, I am being so much more selfish than you give me credit for.”</p><p>Roderich exhaled. His hand dropped from Gilbert’s bicep, falling to his side as he regarded the other Nation. Gilbert could almost see the doom hovering over him in the reflection of Roderich’s eyes. Nodding his head, and leaving the rest unspoken. Gilbert at least turned and walked down the icy stairs. The carriage dipped and rattled with his weight as he slid inside, closing the door shut beside him. As Gilbert settled into the plush seat and gave the driver his address, he found himself checking his pocket watch. It really was getting late. Ludwig would probably be in a fitful slumber when he got home, but Gilbert admittedly got anxious when he was away for too long, in case something should happen. </p><p>The carriage jerked into a start as the horses drawing it started trotting up the cobblestone road. When Gilbert looked out the window again, Roderich was still standing in front of the restaurant doors, watching his cab disappear around the corner. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Spandau Citadel, 1820’s</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Every day, the boy found new ways to surprise him. Gilbert had never himself, not in his lifetime nor his memory, been so close to a newfound Nation. Someone so fresh into the world, unformed and unmolded, still discovering themselves with each uncertain step. Even now just more than a decade after Gilbert had first found Ludwig, washed up on the shore of the Rhine, the boy was not finished impressing him. Maybe it was a point of pride to say it. A boast. After all, Gilbert had taught him everything he knew, made sure he had the best, that he was looked after. What had started out as determination not to fail again had burned away and hardened into something like steel - an unbreakable devotion to his young brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoulder Arms.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the command left Gilbert’s mouth, the barked cadence of it setting the rhythm, Ludwig’s hand snapped down to the musket at his side, sitting at the Order position. His hand curled around the barrel, and with one quick movement, he brought the musket up against his left shoulder. Cradling the butt end in his left hand, his right back back down to his side, flexed so flat it almost curved. As he paced around him, Gilbert tapped his hand. “Relax it,” he said. “You want it straight, not tense.” Ludwig nodded briskly, and released the tension somewhat. Once he was satisfied with the correction, Gilbert continued. “Present Arms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the early days of his training. Gilbert would have to count out the beats aloud. It was ingrained in him at this point, the rhythmic muscle memory coming naturally as Ludwig grabbed the wrist of the musket. He turned the musket on its side against his shoulder before bringing it out in front of him, in line with his right eye, hand coming up flat on the pure white strap (cleaned to perfection, Ludwig had clearly taken time in polishing the arm). With the same, smooth and calculated movements, Ludwig held the musket out in front of him, sliding his right foot back, perfectly in line with the inner arch of his left. The lock rested in his right hand, in the crook between his forefinger and thumb, while his left hand wrapped around the lower barrel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert paced around Ludwig, who didn’t so much as blink under his brother’s scrutiny. When Gilbert had finished his inspection, he moved on. “Shoulder Arms.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig executed the maneuver better than full grown men who’d been in the Infantry their entire lives. At the same time his right arm shifted the musket back to his shoulder, his left hand came down from the belt to the butt. With it held safely at his shoulder again, his right hand came back down to his side - too tense for a split second, before he remembered his earlier correction and relaxed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert held a subtle smile as he came to a stop in front of his brother. He crossed his arms as he watched Ludwig, waiting to make sure he didn’t anticipate the next order. His smirk grew.  “Forward Arms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig’s hand twitched at his side before falling short. He frowned, the confusion shifting into mild panic as he struggled to remember the command and its steps. By the time he looked to Gilbert, clearly expecting a reprimand, Gilbert couldn’t hold it in anymore. He laughed, folding over himself for a moment. It was cruel of him, giving his brother commands that didn’t exist - but in his defense, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny, and he didn’t want the boy getting too cocky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not fair,” Ludwig mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No back-talk,” Gilbert retorted with a mock-scolding glance as he righted himself. As told, Ludwig went silent, though it wasn’t without a mild glare at his elder brother. Once he’d gotten a hold of himself, Gilbert walked behind Ludwig and off to the right. He dug into his hackensack for his pocket watch, watching the second hand as it approached the minute. “Platoon Loading Exercise. Firing at Will,” he commanded as he eyed the watch. “Prime and Load.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig began the second Gilbert issued the command, the very moment the small hand reached its peak. Gilbert glanced between his brother and the watch, counting the seconds as Ludwig went through the movements; brought the musket to his right hip, reached into his cartridge box to pull out a paper cartridge, ripped the top off with his teeth, poured a small amount of powder into the pan, shut the pan, casted the musket about to his side, loaded the remainder of the cartridge, withdrew ramrod, rammed down the cartridge, returned the ramrod, brought the musket back up to his hip, clicked the hammer to full-cock, lifted the musket into his shoulder, right foot sliding back. By the time Ludwig had pulled the trigger, 14 seconds had passed. A flash of fire burst from the lock and out the end of the muzzle. They were firing blanks that morning, no bullets or targets just yet, but the smoke and the ear-ringing explosion was real as anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig continued through the steps. Primed and Loaded his way through the exercise, once, twice more, before the smoke began to hang around him. His times began to slow between shots. He was halfway through his third, just looking down to prime the pan, when the smoke at last became too much for him. Ludwig coughed, trying to work through it at first, before the fit seized his lungs, and he had to bring up the back of his hand, still holding the cartridge, to cover his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert knew when enough was enough. When Ludwig made no progress in recovering, he stuffed the pocket watch back into his haversack and rushed forward. Taking the musket from his brother, who willingly handed it over, Gilbert dumped the pan and eased the springs on the lock, quickly rendering it harmless before setting it carefully on the ground. Ludwig’s coughing had gotten no better. Gilbert took him by the arm, moving him away from the lingering smoke. It was the dead heat of summer, with not so much as a breeze to carry the smoke away, especially within the citadel walls. Once they were a safe several paces away, Gilbert popped off the cap of his waterskin and pushed it into Ludwig’s hand, helping him guide it to his mouth, while one hand steadied his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy,” he said, voice still strong but a touch more sympathetic. “Take a deep breath, let it pass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig managed a nod, guzzling the water down and nearly choking a few times. The water dribbled down his chin and onto the dark blue wool of his forage coat. By the time he pulled away from the waterskin, he was still gasping, each breath coming thick, as if his lungs were full and he was half-drowned - still, he was better, and able to give his brother a nod to confirm that he was alright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert watched him a moment longer to be sure before patting him on the back. “I think we’ve warranted a break. Come on,” he said. Guiding Ludwig down off the bastion where they had set up their practicing space for the morning, they walked past the courtyards and toward the barracks. The citadel was a constant hum of tense motion, of soldiers going through their daily exercises, not entirely unlike the ones he’d just taken Ludwig through. Men stood on watch, Officers discussed menial matters, and handfuls of wives and children of the soldiers went through their own routines. Gilbert took Ludwig into an empty watch room, its open windows and doors looking straight out onto the parade square, feeling less indoors than out with the sunlight and the cross breeze. It was somewhere for Ludwig to sit, something he did immediately, nearly collapsing into the nearest bench as he caught his breath - something that didn’t go unnoticed by Gilbert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never been in the best health, Gilbert knew that, but it only seemed to be getting worse. Gilbert fished an emerald glass bottle out from his haversack and set it on the table in front of his brother; a spruce beer, like he’d given him the first day they’d met. “Drink it,” he said as he pushed the bottle at him. “You’ll feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig nodded and took the bottle without question. Popping the cork off and taking a swing of the lukewarm beer. “I’m alright,” he said after he’d pulled the bottle away. “I can keep going.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be stupid,” Gilbert retorted as he snatched the bottle from him and took a long swing of his own. “Coughing up your lungs onto the grass won’t do anyone good, and it definitely won’t make you a better soldier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig raised a brow at him. He hadn’t aged much outwardly in the past several years, but he was beginning to grow into his features. His brow was sharper, but he still held a touch of boyishness in his face like any adolescent. “I thought,” he broke off in a cough again, covering his mouth with his fist until it passed, “I thought you said comfort doesn’t matter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about comfort,” Gilbert placed the bottle back on the table. “It’s about preservation. And about you not being an idiot,” he added with a swipe at the back of his head. Ludwig rubbed the spot, frowning at him from over the bottle as he drank from it again. Gilbert merely grinned at him. “Rest while you can. We’ll pick up your broadsword lessons this afternoon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig groaned under his breath, and from the corner of his vision, Gilbert could have sworn he saw the boy roll his eyes. He probably should have scolded him, but it was too damn amusing to watch him pout like that. “You have a problem with that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiffening on the bench, Ludwig knew he’d been caught. He looked to Gilbert, who quirked an eyebrow back at him for an answer. Finally, the boy deflated. “I just don’t see why it’s necessary,” he admitted. “No one uses broadswords in combat anymore. Doesn’t it seem redundant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It may seem redundant to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when you’ve never lived through the age of swordsmanship,” Gilbert said as he paced around the table to the other side, staring down at his young brother, “but that’s all the more reason you learn.” With a grin, he unsheathed the bayonet from his crossbelts, turning it over in his hand as the blade caught the light. “Learning how to wield a blade is about a lot more than just fighting,” he pointed the tip of the bayonet at Ludwig. “It teaches you how to observe your enemy. Learn from them, their weaknesses, their thought process,” Gilbert pretended to take a swipe at Ludwig from across the table. The boy leaned back, spilling a bit of the foamy beer over his fingers. Gilbert’s grin only widened. “It’s like chess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig frowned. “I beat you at chess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert sheathed his bayonet. “I let you win,” he argued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never let me win at </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or do I?” Gilbert crossed his arms. “See? I’m already in your head.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig looked down at the bottle, expression more puzzled than it ought to be - Gilbert should have felt guilty for finding it so funny, but he really didn’t. He leaned against the other side of the table, glancing out across the parade square as a squad of infantry set off a volley that echoed through the entire citadel with a physical push through the air. Ludwig jumped a bit at the sudden noise. “We’ll get the broadswords out from the armoury. I left two of mine there last night to be polished. You’ll take the shorter of the two for now-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Ludwig asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert shrugged. “It’ll better suit you. It’s 30 inches, and the 35 inch is best used by someone taller.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig paused for a moment, that ever-present frown deepening as he looked back at Gilbert. It was enough to make Gilbert pause, waiting for whatever it was the boy was about to say. Ludwig looked him up and down before speaking. “I’m taller than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert scowled in returned, standing upright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>offended</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the very idea. “What?” he asked incredulously. “No you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Ludwig opened his mouth to argue, but Gilbert was already nudging him out of his seat, dragging him up to his feet so they could set this right. The moment Ludwig stumbled upright, Gilbert was standing right in front of him. He lifted his hand and laid it flat on his head, so that his fingertips just grazed above Ludwig’s. “See? I’m still taller.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig’s mouth skewed as he glanced up as far as he could see. “You’re tilting your hand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m n-” Yes he was. Gilbert curled his lip and brought his hand back down. It was impossible to tell like this (read: impossible for him to accept the truth). He searched the room for something they could use to measure. The closest thing he could find was a young Private walking outside the door. “You!” Gilbert shouted, jogging over to the doorway to catch the young man as he passed. The poor man looked mortified at being called out by Gilbert, but nonetheless ran back and snapped to attention. Gilbert all but dragged him into the room. “Measure us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldier blanched. “I... Sir?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me Sir, I work for a living,” Gilbert responded. With Ludwig’s face already turning a deep shade of red from embarrassment, Gilbert nudged him around until he was facing the opposite direction, and then positioned himself so they were back to back. “Go on, do it. Who’s taller?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though the young man hesitated for a moment, he did as told and stepped up, taking a careful look before lifting his hand and laying it flat on Ludwig’s head. Gilbert didn’t even feel it, barely noticed he’d done it until he was stepping back. “Um… The, uh… younger Mr. Beilschmidt is taller… Mr. Beilschmidt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert stepped away, turning around to confront his traitorous brother. Ludwig, for his part, was still red in the face and exasperated. Dismissing the soldier with a wave of his hand (to which the man graciously took his leave), Gilbert glared up at Ludwig for a moment longer before bursting into laughter.  “Well… I’ll be damned,” he laughed as he shook his head and shoved at Ludwig’s shoulder. “How could you let this happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig blinked. “I didn't...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No back-talk,” Gilbert retorted with a grin. There it was, then. Ludwig had already outgrown him. It was difficult to describe, the assortment of emotions that hit him in that moment; daunting, for one thing, knowing his little brother wasn’t exactly little any longer. Ludwig had never really been little, not since the day he found him, but it was a threshold he hadn’t been prepared to cross. There was a touch of fear, of uncertainty as Gilbert felt his way blindly through the care of his charge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was pride. Pride, strongest of all. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Austria, Present Day. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stayed up until the small hours of the morning, as the embers in the hearth died down and the conversation grew dimmer, broken up by periodic yawns. Lovino was the first to fall asleep, having drifted off with his arms crossed and his head just </span>
  <em>
    <span>happening</span>
  </em>
  <span> to shift onto Antonio’s shoulder. It was a crime for which Gilbert and Francis had wanted to punish the elder Italian, namely by drawing on his face, but Antonio laughed and shooed them off to spare them. Not to spare Lovino, of course, but rather his friends from Lovino’s wrath. They didn’t even have a marker anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, with Antonio nudging a grumbling Lovino awake again, everyone slowly began to follow suit, shuffling off to their respective bedrooms in the drafty old house. Gilbert was the one to douse the last of the fire, turning the coals over to die down, and dumping a glass of water onto the few burning logs still left. With smoke curling in thick plumes up into the chimney, thin tendrils seeped out and filled his nose. It was a comforting scent, something that for centuries had signified home and safety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the fire out, though, the room was that much darker. The smoke cast a hazy effect on what little he could see, beams of feeble moonlight weakened by the clouds shooting through the windows in soft beams of silver. Gilbert was the last one left down there after the others had all dragged themselves off to bed. He picked up his glass of whiskey and drained the last of it off, the burn easing its way down his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert first saw the reflection as he set the glass down; a figure standing in the middle of the sitting room. He’d have dropped the glass if it hadn’t already touched down onto the coaster, spinning around as quickly as he did. Back to the hearth, Gilbert peered into the darkness, holding his breath until he’d spotted the intruder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner Braun. The former Duchy of Macklenbug-Schwein. He stood staring back at Gilbert, blond hair nearly as silver as his in the muted midnight. Hands in the pockets of a pair of black trousers, he simply watched, making no move to assault him as the others had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, when Gilbert fears the silence might kill him, he spoke. “Reiner…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, the apparition responded. “Gilbert,” Reiner nodded. His voice still sounded like his own, but there was a hollow quality to it. It didn’t ring in Gilbert’s ears right, didn’t reach him like a sound should. At that distance, Gilbert could just barely recognize him, let alone see if his mouth was moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forcing himself to breathe evenly, Gilbert stood there and regarded him for what seemed like hours. He swallowed, tasting the smoke on his tongue. “What, are you all taking shifts?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eloquent as ever, I see,” Reiner replied. Then, a pause, as the moonlight glowed for a brief moment through the clouds, the beams cascading from the windows growing brighter. With more light, Reiner’s figure began to fade as if banished by the light. “You know why I am here..” his voice slipped away in a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert scowled. “Is this is an Ebenezer Scrooge deal?” he quipped. Reiner did not respond. In fact, it did not look like he was there at all anymore. Gilbert squinted into the darkness, where just a blink ago, the shadowy figure of Reiner had stood. He took a cautious step forward, and then another, inching across the wooden floor, smoke still seeping into the room like a fog - much more than there should have been. Gilbert’s gaze swept to the dark corners of the room. “Because if I’d known, I’d have gotten the nightcap and the candle. Really played it up, y’know? It’s your haunting, so your loss!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply. The room was dark and still, as the clouds moved overhead and shaded the moon. There was no sign of the apparition, nothing to say that he had ever been there in the first place. Bringing his hand up to his face, Gilbert rubbed his forehead with a tight groan, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Fuck this was… not normal seemed to be putting it lightly. He really did not know what was real anymore, and that alone was terrifying to him. Gilbert prided himself on being fairly rational. There was no rationalizing this. It seemed to be happening when he was tired or distracted, however, so maybe that was a start. He just needed to sleep, to let the ghosts fade for the night. With that in mind, he intended on heading upstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert felt a sudden ice cold shiver down his spine. Gasp choked in the back of his throat, he spun around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner stood inches away from his face. Gilbert swallowed a shout, stumbling back a step. He was not, as he feared he might be, in the dark room surrounded by torches. Instead the phantoms had come to him tonight. In the smoky dark of the sitting room, the shadowed figures stood in a circle around him, their faces dancing in and out of his peripheries. He could not see them if he looked, but caught glimpses the moment his gaze turned away, Reiner the only one remaining constant. He saw Reiner’s twin sister Charlotte, the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, standing not far back from him. He saw Otto, Ernst, and Frieda, all of them standing wide in the forefront of the circle. Following that… Gilbert decided quite easily that he did not want to know who was standing behind him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your time is ending, Gilbert,” Reiner said. There was no colour to his eyes as he stared back at Gilbert, just a pewter-gray where his irises had once been. “You know this already.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert stood there for a long moment, forcing composure, catching his breath, keeping a thing grip on sanity. Even still, he managed a wild grin as his heart raced. “My time was supposed to end a long, long time ago. Just like the rest of you poor </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>sods!” he heaved with a manic laugh. “So what, you want me to just go quietly? My track record isn’t the greatest with that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner’s eyes narrowed, glaring him like light off a flint’s edge. “You must accept it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or what?” Gilbert challenged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or people will get hurt,” Reiner replied. His voice was the spark set off in the dark, catching the loose tinder that made up Gilbert’s chest. He schooled his expression, but still, he knew that Reiner - or whatever sort of illusion this was - could see that slow burning dead take light inside him. “And you will only have yourself to blame,” he said. “Everything must one day come to an end, Gilbert. Resistance only brings tragedy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert squared his chin. “What the hell do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not the first of us,” Reiner said. “But you will be the last.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert curled his lip. “Does being dead automatically make you more vague, or are you being an asshole on purpose?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pain like a holy spear shot through his shoulder, searing him from the inside out in hellfire. Seized by the agony, Gilbert choked on a yelp and grabbed onto his shoulder, crashing down to his knees. He couldn’t breathe through it, couldn’t tell where he ended and the pain began. He had a feeling the end of him was quite literally closer than the pain was. Brought to his knees, Gilbert doubled over on himself, teeth gritted to the point of his jaw aching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel it now. Thin tendrils of grey matter sewing their way through is skin, his muscle tissue, wrapping around his heart and squeezing, slithering up his neck toward his jugular. Gilbert held onto his shoulder tighter, fingers digging in to the point of bruising, as if he could hold the mark back, contain it to the size of his palm - but it was already larger, he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be the last,” Reiner’s voice repeated in a dull echo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it stopped. Gilbert was released from the pain. It passed over his body, lifting as if it hadn’t been there at all. Gilbert was left on his knees in the middle of the dark sitting room, the scent of smoke gone from his nostrils, a bead of sweat dripping off the tip of his nose form his forehead. He could feel it, cool and damp beneath the shirt on his back. It was a moment before he caught his breath, and lifted his trembling head up toward the space Reiner had taken up. No one was there. Slowly, Gilbert sat upright, looking to his left and right to find no shadowed apparitions. Holding his breath, he looked behind him - no one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert dropped his head, closing his eyes and counting his breaths. He was so tempted to brush this off as another mental break, coming up with a million excuses to avoid that inescapable, damning truth. But he couldn’t do it any longer. He could lie to the others all he wanted, but he hadn’t believed them himself from the start. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mark twitched beneath his skin. Gilbert looked down, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt and pulling it toward the edge of his shoulder. The mark had spread past to his collarbone, curling up toward his neck. He could see slivers of it disappearing down his arm under the shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh that shook through the core of him, Gilbert groaned and simply knelt there a moment, staring into the last stubborn embers of the once roaring hearth fire. He watched, as all but one died out, and the final ember flickered into a dull glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice from upstairs trickled down through the walls. Gilbert didn’t pay it any mind at first - until that voice grew in pitch, and was joined slowly by several others, their tones increasing in urgency. Footsteps followed, thudding down through the ceiling on the floor above his head. Gilbert’s eyes shot up, straining to listen through the house, to understand what was happening. His mind was still reeling, stagnant in a level of shock that left it spinning wildly and moving nowhere. It took him far too long to realise that it was the others, Roderich’s voice particularly strong above the commotion. Finally feeling the paralytic fear lifting from his body, Gilbert scrambled to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all he could do not to look constantly into the shadows at every turn, paranoia and confusion still haunting him in the most literal sense. Gilbert grabbed onto the banister and used it to propel him up the stairs, long legs straining to take the stairs two at a time to reach the top. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not answering her mobile,” Feliciano said, distress leaking from his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig’s was quick to follow. “Her landline is dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we sure that she is in Budapest?” Antonio’s voice cut in. “Doesn’t she still have her villa near Lake Balaton?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Roderich replied tersely. “She does, but the last I spoke with her this morning, she was in Budapest, and had no plans to go anywhere else for the holidays.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert finally reached the top of the stairs, flying down the hallway and around the corner to find the longer corridor where the bedrooms were. Everyone was standing out in the hall, the light from their bedrooms flooding into the dark corridor in stark beams. They were all gathered around the door to the Masterbedroom, Roderich’s. The moment he approached, running with hell on his heels, all heads turned toward him. The first thing he noticed were the tears in Feliciano’s eyes, not yet fallen onto his cheeks, but welled up at the corners, the whites already stained red. Roderich had his mobile phone pressed up to his ear, his other hand running back through dark chestnut hair as he paced. Everyone looked tense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Gilbert rushed as he ran the last few steps to reach them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t seen?” Francis questioned as he pulled out his own phone and handed it to Gilbert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert took it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>to snap ‘obviously not’ but held his tongue and his frustration at bay. The moment he looked down at the screen, the Breaking News headline flashed on Twitter, the top quarter of the screen taken up by a live feed of Budapest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was in ruins. Gilbert almost didn’t believe that it was the same city. There was a helicopter shot over the city, showing the Danube River and the Széchenyi Chain Bridge collapsed into the water, the flood lights of rescue teams picking up survivors. The video feed was dark, still well into the night, but the lights left in the city caught the plumes of dust and smoke as they rose above the crumbled rooftops, illuminating the night. The video feed switched to alternating shots of the city and its landmarks; St. Stephen’s Basilica had sustained cracks to its foundations and walls, but was still standing. The eastern wall of Buda Castle had collapsed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert stared at the screen until he felt his eyes getting dry, his heart pounding hard enough to hear the roar of blood in his ears. His gaze snapped back to Roderich as he handed Francis his phone back. “And no one’s been able to get a hold of her?” he asked with a panicked hitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roderich cursed under his breath as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “No,” he replied. “We’ve tried her mobile, her landline, the office at Parliament - she’s not answering anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” Lovino spoke up where he stood next to Antonio, the Spaniard’s hand braced on his shoulder, “Ersze is smart. She’ll have gotten somewhere safe. The earthquake happened not even a half hour ago, they haven’t even gotten through the aftershocks yet. Give her time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you be sure?” Gilbert could not keep the tension out of his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino met it head on with a glare. “Oddly enough, I think I have enough experience with fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>earthquakes</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright!” Roderich stepped in before things got out of hand. “We’ll… keep trying to get a hold of her, but… I have a feeling it might be a while.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was - or it felt like it. In all, an hour had passed before Roderich’s phone buzzed on the wooden counter in the kitchen, disturbing a tentative silence that had everyone in the room jolting. Unable to sleep until they knew their friend was safe, the seven of them had retreated down to the warmth of the old kitchen, stocking a few logs for a fire - out of habit, really. They could have turned all the lights on, but in all their many years, a fire burning in the hearth burning meant safety. It meant home. They brought out a tin of shortbread biscuits, nibbling on them to pass the time, hesitant to bring out the coffee just yet in case they had a chance of sleeping that night. Time passed with updates from every news coverage they could find in Budapest, surveying the damage and praying that Erzsébet was not buried underneath it. In truth, from what they could pick out from several sources, the wreckage had been minimal, with few buildings actually destroyed, and structural damage being the most prevalent - but it was difficult to keep thoughts from turning toward dark places when the cameras were focused so intently on those areas of destruction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Roderich’s phone did buzz, Erzsébet’s name flashing onto the screen, everyone was on edge. Roderich reached across the table, snatching the phone up so quickly he nearly dropped it, fumbling with it before getting it secured in his grasp and bringing it up to his ear. “Erzsébet? Hello? Are you alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erzsébet’s voice was just barely audible through the phone to everyone else, slowly gathering around with bated breath to listen in. Gilbert had shot up from his seat on the old-style bench along the far wall where he’d been endlessly scrolling through pictures shared by people in Budapest, hoping to somehow find Erzsébet in the crowds. Racing over to Roderich, he stopped on the other side of the counter. “Put her on speaker!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- yes, alrigh- here, I’m going to let everyone hear,” Roderich quickly explained into the phone before pulling it away and putting the speaker on, setting the phone down on the counter again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erzsé?” Feliciano leaned in closer over the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright,” Erzsébet reported, to the collective sigh of the other nations. “I was cutting through the City Park when it happened, so I was out in the open. It just took too long to get back home, and my phone was dead. I’m so sorry that I worried you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about any of that,” Roderich insisted. The relief was tangible in his voice, the slump of his exhausted shoulders. He shared a glance with Gilbert across the counter, a gentle nod, before looking back down at the phone. “How is the city looking now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what you’d expect,” Erzsébet replied. There was a crunch of glass underfoot through the line, as the background noise of distant sirens and muddle commotion grew louder. “They’re calling it a 6.9.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lovino scowled, elbows braced on the countertop as he leaned forward. “There hasn’t been an earthquake in Budapest in almost three hundred years, hasn’t there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Erzsébet replied. “No one was expecting it… it came from out of nowhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert felt his throat righten.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“People will get hurt,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Reiner had said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“and you will only have yourself to blame. Resistance only brings tragedy.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> It couldn’t possibly be connected. It went against every logical cell in Gilbert’s body. Still, the evidence was stacking up against him. He didn’t believe in coincidences. That one statement overruled all else in his mind. And with that, brought a faint nausea creeping its way through his gut, an insidious poison eating away at him from the inside out. Gilbert felt his stomach churn and cramp, that horrible slithering sensation from the mark inching its way further over his skin. Gilbert shuddered, but kept his composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How has your house faired?” Roderich asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause on the other end of the line, bringing Gilbert back to the present, that answered the question better than words ever could. Still, Erzsébet responded. “Not unscathed,” she sighed, the sounds of the city fading away, replaced by more crunching grass. “It’s still standing, no terrible damage, but… the windows are all broken, the shelves came down, the ceiling is buckling on the second floor, it’s… God, it’s a mess. I don’t even know where to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an audible pain in her voice. Erzsébet had owned that home since just before the turn of the 20th century now - the first home she had bought herself without government intervention, without someone else’s name on the deed. The first home that had been truly hers since… God, Gilbert couldn’t even remember. A fraction of the age of the estate they were currently standing in, and by all means Erzsébet’s home for much longer, but that cramped little house, taller than it was wide, in the middle of Budapest had been a point of pride for Erzsébet. It was not by any means the first time it had seen damage - the second world war certainly saw to that - but it must have hurt her nonetheless to see it in such disrepair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roderich’s gaze softened. “Erzsébet… come here,” he said, a sympathetic edge of pleading in his voice. “Stay with us until your home is fixed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Erzsébet paused, though there was a muffled sigh as if she’d pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment. “I don’t know, Roderich…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it won’t be repaired in time for Christmas,” Roderich pressed. “Please, Erzsé. I couldn’t stand the thought of you spending the holiday alone in a damaged home. You know you’re always welcomed here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Erzsébet replied, this time with a touch of a smile audible in her voice. She hesitated. “I’ll… I’ll think about it, alright? I’m just tired right now. My bedroom isn’t in terrible shape, so I’m alright for the night, at least.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a long day,” Ludwig’s deeper baritone spoke up. Gilbert glanced over at him, catching the subtle motions of him rubbing soothing circled into Feliciano’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can say that again,” Erzsébet gave a humourless laugh. “Thank you for checking in on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, with murmured goodbyes from everyone, the call ended, and the relief in the room faded into exhaustion, the long night slowly creeping up on them all. Everyone began to shuffle out and back up to their bedrooms. Gilbert made it a point this time to not be the one to douse the fire, though Roderich seemed perfectly content to do it. However, he hadn’t made it to the door before Roderich called out to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gilbert,” he said, and as Gilbert turned to face him, he cause his gaze lingering on him with a tired frown. “What’s that on your neck?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert’s hand instantly came up to the side of his neck. “What’s what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roderich took a step forward. “That grey line-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably just a smudge of ash from when I put the fire out in the sitting room earlier,” Gilbert shrugged, taking a discreet step back. He angled his body away as he moved, pretending to wipe the mark off his skin. “Which, by the way - your turn.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- yes, I know, that’s what I…” Roderich trailed off, regarding Gilbert for a long moment, before shaking his head. “Nevermind. Goodnight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert didn’t respond. He threw a halfhearted wave over his shoulder as he turned and headed back upstairs, pointedly avoiding the shadows of the house. He didn’t look in the mirror when he got to his room. Didn’t dare even look in the reflection of the window as he pulled his shirt of, changed into a tee, and pointedly ignored his shoulder. With a bottle of water at his bedside, Gilbert fumbled with the orange plastic bottle until he managed to pop a sleeping pill out into his hand. With a groan, he dropped onto the bed, kicking his pants off without a care where they fell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness was too much. So was the quiet. Gilbert did not do well, being left alone with his thoughts. He stared up at the ceiling, half expecting another horror to come and keep him up through the night, to torment him with sleep dangling just out of his grasp. It never came. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert, if absolutely nothing else in his life, was very </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> good at putting up fronts. It was the poker face. Or, more accurately perhaps, it was his innate ability to bullshit his way through everything. So, for the entirety of the next morning, and into the early afternoon, Gilbert appeared for all the world entirely normal. Normal for him, anyway. He’d spent the majority of the night before rolling between periods of dead sleep (fuck, wrong word to use right now), and lethargic restlessness, a sleeping pill induced sluggishness that had him constantly waking up thirsty, but admittedly too terrified to venture out to the bathroom for a glass of water. His heart kept an anxious rhythm thrumming through every inch of his body, the entire night. He swore whenever he put his hand to his chest, he could feel it pushing against the restraint of his sternum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reiner’s words were digging into him. The presence of the Old Kingdoms was a constant gnawing on the back of his neck, hacking away at his spine. It didn’t feel real. None of it did - but he could not avoid that mortifying truth any longer, no more than he could ignore the death mark growing over his skin day by day - sometimes hour by hour. They Old Kingdoms were appearing to him. They were after him, quite possibly after his friends too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a conclusion there. The summation of these events, of his warning, the inescapable truth of the mark on his skin and what it meant… but Gilbert could not bring himself to acknowledge it. Not entirely. He knew, deep down, what was happening, but the words were too heavy. He could not drag them up from whatever fathoms they had come from. It wasn’t a truth he was ready to face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he didn’t. Simple as that. It was the holidays, and if he focused on his friends, on Francis and Roderich and Feliciano arguing about art history, and getting under Lovino’s skin just for the hell of it, and getting into food-catching contests with Antonio, he could very easily compartmentalise the planets aligning like a dagger over his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could for a few hours, anyway. By the afternoon, Gilbert was getting restless. Even in the daylight, with the sun reflecting bright of the snow and filling every corner of the house with light, Gilbert did not feel any more safe. Even he could only keep up a face for so long. He needed some time and space to clear his head. So, after lunch was cleared away and the others settled in to relax for a few hours, Gilbert took the opportunity to pull on his boots and coat, and head out onto the mountain trail. He knew exactly where he needed to be right now… that is, if he didn’t chicken out and turn back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold wind was an instant and icy shock, and he couldn’t help but stand in the doorway, tilting his head back and taking a lungful of the frigid air. It purged the anxious heat from him, cleaned out all the smoke and ash. The scent of pine and cedar trees across the mountain surrounded him. So, pulling the scarf around his neck just a bit tighter, he braced himself against the wind, and started on his hike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wind died down some once he was into the forest path, the frozen trees blocking the wind. The frost covered needles clinked together, a whole mountainside of gentle music with every breeze. It was soothing. Hands shoved into his pockets, Gilbert allowed his tumultuous thoughts fade, narrowing his focus down on the cold biting at his skin. His mind wandered toward the countless other times he had walked this same mountain trail - both the good and the bad memories, and the countless more in between. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those thoughts all came to a halt the moment he reached his destination. Gilbert climbed up the final slope, curving toward the high plateau, the near hour it took him to reach the summit having faded by in the mindless repetition of the hike. As he rounded that bed, the cold having long since seeped into his skin, Gilbert could not help but pause. The ancient wall of the town of Sankt Bacchus, the old iron gate like the mouth of a giant beckoning him inside with its jagged teeth ready to decay and fall any moment, towered above him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond the gate, he could see the winding streets of the old village, bombed-out and let to rot for centuries yet still holding its shape. The foundations of many buildings still stood, dwellings and shops and stables all sitting in ruins of stone and decaying wood. He could still see the way the streets turned, narrowly curling its way through the town. Gilbert had seen thousands of ruined villages in his life. Cities stripped to their skeletal bones, places far for familiar and heartbreaking to see shattered. He had never seen a place quite so well and truly forgotten to time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert walked under the gate, taking a faster stride than necessary to avoid the looming iron bars overhead. It was peaceful up here, eerily so, and he found himself nearly trying to muffle his own footfall with careful steps as he walked through the old streets. Inevitably, he found himself headed toward the ridge, barely thinking about it until he stood at the base of it, the Cathedral a soaring monolith above the town. Gilbert stood there for an age, hands in the pockets of his black coat, scarf ends caught in the wind, staring up at the decrepit spires, black against the dull white sky. Everything up here was monochromatic, frozen in shades of grey. Even the evergreens felt washed out, frosted over and shaded where they grew on the mountain face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t set out with this purpose - but he knew very well what he intended to do as he walked up the icy slope toward the Cathedral. The wind pushed at his back, driving him forward until he’d come to the massive oak doors - which were open. Gilbert frowned, assuming with reasonable suspicion that the wind had simply pushed them ajar. He slipped inside, leaving the door open to sway and creak. The wind still howled through cracks in the windows, holes where parts of the walls had crumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had not gotten much further than this the last time he was here. The memory was clearer than crystal; walking into the Cathedral to find Ludwig, holding a guilty and mortified Feliciano, standing atop the grave he’d avoided for the past two centuries. A rage he’d seldom felt in his life had trickled over his head, a scalding acid dripping down through his skull, consuming him entirely. He had, in spite of the inferno of his rage, continued on casually, grinning as he subtly separated Ludwig from Feliciano, his focus narrowing down to getting him away from the incorrupt body below their feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert knew now that the rage had been fear. He knew now that he had taken too much out on Feliciano, knew that he had placed an unbearable burden on him - but he could not regret the lengths he went to to protect his brother. It was in the past, in any case. He and Feliciano had made their peace with it. He and Ludwig… not quite yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind turned in these idle directions as he walked down the nave, eyes trailing the details still left - the faint lapis still painted on the ceiling, the worn down stonework, the stained glass that had been dulled by centuries of sunlight and neglect. It was warmer than he thought it would be, in here. The wind that did get in resonated through the Cathedral with the faint echoes of a choir, but the walls were still sturdy enough to block out the wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he nearly missed it to the white noise when the sound of footsteps came from behind the side altars. He did catch it, though. Gilbert went still the moment he heard the movement, heart skipping a beat, and another, chest rushing with unbearable heat. He expected the shadows to close in on him at any moment, for a face from his past to appear in all their fury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he heard his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words were unclear, but it was Ludwig’s unmistakable voice, muttering a frustrated curse which was followed by the ungodly whine of disused hinges. He heard the heavy impact of a door hitting the wall behind it, a sigh, and finally more footsteps, slowly fading as they disappeared - down into the crypt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert nearly started after him in a panic, that old habitual dread nearly overtaking him before ration took its place. There was nothing down there to keep from Ludwig anymore - there was nothing down there at all. Still, he could understand Ludwig’s curiosity, even if it was a little jarring to find him here. He hadn’t noticed Ludwig’s absence before he’d left on his own hike, having assumed he was with Feliciano. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After waiting a few moments, Gilbert walked around to the side altar, finding the too-familiar door down to the crypt wide open, and the faint glow of a mobile phone flashlight slowly disappearing down the narrow stairwell. Keeping his steps light, Gilbert followed Ludwig down into the crypt, feeling along the wall taking cautious steps once the light had faded, and he was left in the dark. The walls grew colder, more damp and grimy the further down he went, a wet kind of chill clinging to his bones. By the time he made it to the bottom, Gilbert was walking completely blind. Farther down the tight hallway, the white light shone against the wall around a curve, toward the first chamber (where, as he recalled, the former organ player had been buried with his collection of human skulls - like a fucking weirdo). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert approached the light. One hand still feeling along the rough, aged stone, he rounded the bend, only steps away from the chamber when he heard movement from behind him. It was the only warning he had before a punch was thrown at his head, narrowly dodging out of the way before it made contact. The assailant did not let up, throwing a punch with the opposite hand. Gilbert threw an arm up to block it, but was unprepared for the knee that came up and caught him on the thigh, knocking him backwards a few steps. Another punch was thrown, and this time Gilbert managed to block it and grapple the attacker, using their own momentum to shove them into the chamber. Still fully in the shadows, Gilbert braced himself as the other figure caught himself and turned back and lunged at him. He ducked out of the way of the first grab, but got caught as he was coming back up. In a movement too fast to keep up with, Gilbert was spun around and pinned against the iron bars of the crypt, back to the wall of thousands of human skulls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Gilbert grinned. The look on Ludwig’s face as he pinned him, arm across his chest, other hand reared back for a knockout punch, when he realised it was him was absolutely priceless. He went from lion going for the kill to exasperated in one second flat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gil?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert’s grin widened. “At Ease, Soldier,” he panted. Ludwig sighed, the heavy tension flooding out of him as Gilbert tapped on his arm as if they were wrestling. “Get the fuck offa me,” he grunted as Ludwig finally let up, dropping his arm and stepping back. He coughed once, rolling his left shoulder back with a wince. Ludwig was already walking over to where he’d left his phone on top of the organ player’s stone casket in the centre of the chamber, flashlight beaming up. He must have heard someone following him and set up the confrontation - Gilbert had to admit he was a bit proud. Making a show of dusting himself off just to see Ludwig roll his eyes, Gilbert finished off by straightening the collar of his coat. “A little paranoid there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig glared back at him. “In this place, understandably, yes,” he conceded. As he walked closer, and the flashlight moved in his hands, the shadows danced in the empty eye sockets and mounts of the skulls. It looked as if they were watching and laughing, brought to life by the light. Ludwig crossed his arms. “Did you follow me up here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gilbert replied with a shrug. “Honestly, I was just on a hike, myself… but I heard you walking down here once I got into the Cathedral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you thought it would be a great idea to sneak up on me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bold of you to assume I thought about anything,” Gilbert fired back with a grin. Glancing around the eerie crypt, he shook his hand through his silver hair. “What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing up here?” he asked, raising a brow. “Does Feli know you came up here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he doesn’t,” Ludwig answered quickly. “He was doing some baking with his brother, and I told him I was just going on a walk. So-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Gilbert raised his hands in surrender, “I’m many things but I’m not a snitch. Your secret’s safe. You didn’t answer my first question, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig didn’t respond right away, sighing through his nose as he turned toward the pitch black tunnel leading away from the small chamber. “I…” he trailed off, eyes still singularly focused on the dark beyond. “I needed to come back. To see it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert nodded, following his gaze for a moment. “You needed to scratch the itch, I get it,” he murmured. A long beat of silence, so profound he could hear his own heart beating, passed between the two brothers. Finally, Gilbert caught Ludwig’s eye, and nodded his head toward the tunnel. Without another word, and with all the understanding anyway, the two of them continued on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig’s flashlight lead the way, a pale blue beam in the absolute darkness, as they walked on through the ancient crypt. This was not a path Gilbert had any fond memories of. He did not necessarily enjoy being down here, but like his brother, the curiosity was compelling him forward - and there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to let Ludwig do this alone. It crossed his mind, with a chill down his spine, that the first time he had walked this path </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Ludwig - only he had been walking behind his coffin, as it was carried to what should have been his final resting place. This very well could be the last time he was walking down here - and this time, he was walking by Ludwig’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Ludwig was walking out with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both paused at the threshold, as the tunnel opened up to the larger chamber. The stone lid of the casket still lay in shattered pieces on the floor. A wrought iron torch had been abandoned next to it, and as Gilbert looked closer, he could see the faint marks of dried blood still left behind. And finally, the grave itself, open and empty. Ludwig walked in first, making a slow inspection of the chamber. He walked with an even pace, taking in the details that he no doubt hadn’t the chance to absorb that last time he was down here. He stopped at the stone casket, smoothing his hand over the ridge. Gilbert opted to stay back, allowing Ludwig to have the time and space he needed with his thoughts. He leaned against the wall, more than happy to keep his distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I woke up in here…” Ludwig finally broke the dead quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert started a bit at his voice. To be honest, he hadn’t expected him to speak at all. He frowned. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig stared down into the empty grave. “Konrad brought me down here at gunpoint,” he began, his voice low with an almost hollow quality to it. Gilbert listened intently. Ludwig had never willing spoken about what happened down here that night in the past year. “He had… tempted me with answers, at first, and when I began to resist, he threatened me… I could have overpowered him, but I went along, because in truth I was dying to know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be faulted for your curiosity,” Gilbert murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig shook his head in a silent show that he understood. “He made me open the casket… and I saw the boy. I saw myself. Dead. It didn’t seem possible… it still doesn’t,” Ludwig confessed. “Once I realised the truth, who I was, the body began to disintegrate, and… the pain was too much. I blacked out. The next thing I remember is waking up inside the casket, completely trapped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus…” Gilbert cursed quietly, finally pushing off the wall to tentatively walk into the chamber. “Konrad put you in there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, Ludwig did not respond. Gilbert watched his face carefully in the dim light, the knot in the centre of his brows, the tight line of his mouth. When Ludwig looked up, their eyes met in the ghostly light. “No,” he replied. “He didn’t. I think… I think I took </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>place somehow.” Ludwig reached inside, touching the bottom of the casket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert shivered at the thought, scrubbing his hand down his face as he stared inside the grave. Once again, it was several moments of complete quiet before he spoke. “I came back here after I first found you,” he said. “I knew beyond a doubt who you were, but I had to see for myself, y’know? I was expecting to find it empty, but… you were still in there. Still hurts my head just thinking about it. I’ve never been able to understand it, but… here you are.” Their eyes met again, a silent understanding that ran so often between them. Gilbert took one last look around the crypt, before crossing to the other side of the casket and patting Ludwig on the back. “C’mon. This place is depressing, let’s get out of here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both eager to leave the dreary place behind, Gilbert and Ludwig made their way out of the crypt, climbing up the tight stairwell one by one and stepping out into the Cathedral. Even the ruins were a breath of fresh air after being down below, a wide space after the claustrophobic tunnels. As they walked out from behind the side altar and into the sanctuary, Gilbert tilted his head back and stared up at the empty scene of heaven. That’s all this place was now - empty. Empty church, empty grave, left to rot and decay on the mountain side with only a handful of people left alive to remember it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert looked back at Ludwig as he pushed the door to the crypt closed, his hand lingering on the wood for a moment before turning away. Ludwig caught his gaze for a moment but didn’t say anything, pacing slowly around the remains of the pews and the toppled statue of an angel. His eyes wandered around the Cathedral, from the broken stone and glass littering the once-polished floor, to the second tier balconies and the high arching vaults. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning back against a nearby pillar, Gilbert slipped his hands into his pockets and watched him. “What’s on your mind?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig came to a gradual stop not far from him, standing in the centre of the nave. His eyes were on the ceiling, and those faded golden stars. Ludwig took in a slow, steady breath. “You knew all that time,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert pushed off the pillar, already gearing up for an argument. “Don’t start this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ludwig quickly cut in again, eyes slightly surprised as he finally looked back at his brother.  “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s only that… it makes me think differently of a lot of things,” his tone was pensive, the words seeming to hesitate on his tongue not out of unwillingness to speak them, but a quiet awe Gilbert couldn’t for the life of him understand. Ludwig cast his eyes down for a moment, then up at the ceiling again, a soft frown on his face before he finally cleared his throat. “The things you’ve done for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert looked at his brother, and for just a moment, saw the confused kid laying bare on the banks of the Rhine. He saw the boy in the black cape, shouting at his superiors to be heard, the backs of the Old Kingdoms turning on him as Gilbert watched and did nothing but pat him on the shoulder and tell him to give it a rest. To let them handle things. He saw the stoney faced teenager absorbing everything Gilbert told him like he could do no wrong, like he held the secrets to everything. He remembered a hundred arguments, the two of them screaming in each other’s faces, and more than a few times shoving at each other when tempers flared. He saw all of it, and wondered how Ludwig could possibly be so dumbfounded about all he’d done for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only hit him then - that he was leaving. He could feel the final page approaching. There was no epilogue to this that he could see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he couldn’t regret it. Not for a second, not for his brother, but God Almighty he was angry. Angry that after everything, after a thousand years, this is what he got. Slowly crumbling away, unable to do a damn thing about it. There was no honour in this, no enemy he could fight. He’d rather be run through with a sword so long as he had one in his hand as he went down, beheaded with a grin permanently frozen on his corpse. He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>deserve this. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the outside, Gilbert exhaled slowly, the fury coming in a calm wave. He nodded to Ludwig in acknowledgement, eyes then cast to the ground. He searched the rubble at his feet, before picking up a chunk of stone, weighing it in his hand a moment, and turning to throw it at the window. The stained glass in all the ancient windows had been cracked and broken apart in places long before they arrived, but it was remaining in some parts. The shatter as it crashed through the glass echoed through the entire Cathedral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gilbert, what the hell are you doing?!” Ludwig asked, his voice echoing just the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert glanced back at him, throwing that ever-present grin on with ease. “Redecorating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig’s scowl was more confused than harsh, bordering on concern. He opened his mouth and closed it, unable to process what had just happened. “What’s gotten into you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gilbert spun around on his heel, arms open wide. “What does it matter? There’s nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore. We may as well put up a Vacancy sign,” he smirked. “Hardly anyone remembers this place even exists. In a few years it’s going to completely disappear. Hell, it’s been falling apart for years already! I don’t know about you,” Gilbert said as he swept down and grabbed another stone, chucking it over Ludwig’s head and toward the opposite side of the Cathedral, where it smashed into a pillar and crumbled on impact, “but I can’t wait until it does.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig ducked at first when Gilbert threw the stone over his head, still feeling it come a little too close. He looked back as it broke apart and fell down onto the floor with resounding echoes. “That doesn’t mean we have to help it along,” he said cautiously as he rose to full height again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Gilbert fired back. He picked up another stone, a larger piece that looked like it’d broken off from the decorative corner of a pillar, and held it out to Ludwig. “You try. It feels good, trust me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig frowned down at his brother’s hand. “I’m not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just do it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blond hesitated, finally taking the stone with a lingering look at his brother. He looked around the Cathedral, calculating as ever, before finally finding his target. Ludwig wound back and threw the stone at the next window over - where he promptly ended up decapitating what was left of an image of the Virgin Mary. Ludwig instantly recoiled, bringing his fist up to his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing next to him, Gilbert stared at the window. “So, uh… were you aiming for her or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ludwig replied, hand still covering his mouth. “I was aiming for the centre of the rose above her head.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another beat of silence passed before the two brothers finally looked at each other. Neither of them could hold it back at that point. Gilbert braced his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder, bursting into laughter so hard he nearly doubled over. Even Ludwig could not keep a straight face. It was rare that Ludwig laughed like this. Few people could bring it out of him; Gilbert liked to think he’d always been one of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should really get back,” Ludwig coughed, once he’d gotten a hold of himself, trying and failing to banish the last of the laughter. “Before anyone gets worried and comes looking for us, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, alright,” Gilbert shook his head, giving Ludwig’s shoulder one last playful shove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them started toward the door, down the centre aisle, intent on leaving the desolate place behind them. But as Gilbert walked at his brother’s side, the further he strayed from the altar, the more intensely he felt his back burning, eyes searing into the base of his skull at his neck, consuming him - not in agony, in a literal sense, but a mocking sort of pain that Gilbert decided very quickly he could not fucking take. Gilbert stopped, not waiting for Ludwig to say anything, before turning back with a jogging start, swiping a stone off the floor and throwing it with a roar, putting all his might toward the vacant sanctuary. It burst on impact, the shatter so loud this time it sounded more like a canon than a choir. In the resounding aftermath, as Gilbert’s hand dropped back down to his side, and he panted to catch his breath, he glared hellfire into the sanctuary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gilbert?” The concern had returned to Ludwig’s voice behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes. Tilted his head back. Exhaled slowly through his nose. “I never thought I’d make it this long, to be honest,” he found himself muttering before any filter could catch the words. “I don’t know what I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gil…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert shook his head, turned sharply, and walked back past his brother without pause. “Forget it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ludwig’s hand shot out to Gilbert’s shoulder as he passed, holding him in place for a moment. “You know I can’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Gilbert chuckled under his breath as he shrugged Ludwig’s hand off his shoulder, turning back a step to smile at him. “Remembering’s your thing now, isn’t it?” he teased. Ludwig did not budge, did not fade in his worried scowl. Gilbert watched him for a moment longer before clapping Ludwig on the back and continuing on his stroll toward the door. “Come on,” he beckoned behind him. “Let’s head back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk back down the mountain wasn’t quiet by any means - but they did not talk about what happened in the Cathedral. None of it really, not the crypt, not the sacrilege vandalism, not Gilbert’s outburst. There were more than a few times that Gilbert could see it on Ludwig’s tongue, the urge to bring it all up, but every time he either changed the subject, or watched as his brother second guessed himself and left the topic alone. By the time they made it off the trail and down toward Roderich’s estate, things felt almost normal between them - if not for the lingering tension neither of them were quite willing to bring up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d made it just past the stable-turned-garage when Feliciano came bounding out of the house, still putting his coat on ten steps out the door. His face flashed from buried concern to cheery in the blink of an eye as he slowed down to meet them. “Oh, you’re both back!” he beamed, planting a quick peck on Ludwig’s cheek. “Ludwig, I didn’t think you’d be so long out there. Where have you been?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just exploring the trails,” Ludwig replied easily, arm finding its natural place around Feliciano’s waist. “I ran into Gilbert and we got to talking. I did not realise how much time had passed. I’m sorry if I worried you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Feliciano smiled, though his eyes flickered to the mountain peak, where the ruins of Sankt Bacchus were just barely visible around the winding face. He just as quickly looked back at Ludwig, a visible relief in the line of his slender shoulders. “Well, you’ve been out so long, I’m sure you’re both freezing. Come inside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Powerless against Feliciano, Ludwig followed him toward the house, Gilbert just a step behind and just as eager to warm up. The cold had long since begun to bite through the layers of his gloves and boots. He hadn’t, however, made it more than a few steps before he heard the sound of a car engine starting up, and growing fainter by the second. He stopped, looking toward the source of the sound, just around the corner of the house where the front gate was hidden out of view. Neither Ludwig nor Feliciano seemed to have noticed, already absorbed in talking to each other as they walked inside. Feliciano only realised he was not following when they made it to the door, pausing in the threshold to call back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gilbert!” Feliciano cupped his hand by his mouth. “Are you coming?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh- yeah!” Gilbert replied with a wave. “In a minute, you guys go ahead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over Feliciano’s shoulder, Ludwig watched him with that recurring concern. It only let up when Feliciano shrugged off the Prussian’s behaviour, and continued chattering on about whatever it is he’d been saying before. He stepped inside and finally closed the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gilbert walked around the far side of the house, past where the stone wall lining the front of the estate began, until he was on the outside of it. As he made his way around the smooth white stone, hands once again tucked into his coat pockets for warmth, he came upon a sight he’d admit he wasn’t expecting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erzsébet stood before the large wrought iron gate. The sound of her cab slowly dissipated as it retreated back down the mountain, leaving her standing there with her bags at her feet. She did not seem to notice him at first. Erzsébet stood there, staring through the bars at the estate as if it were a prison and a sanctuary at the same time. Gilbert knew the feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erzsé?” he called out. Gilbert smirked as he approached, still a few meters of distance between them. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show,” he said, once again not receiving a response. He came to a gradual stop, the smile disappearing. “Hey. You okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erzsébet didn’t turn to look at him right away. She seemed to take in a steadying breath, letting it fog from her lips, before turning to him. “Of course,” she said, as if she believed it. Erzsé leaned down picking up one of her bags. “Make yourself useful and help me bring these inside, will you?” </span>
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